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A MEMOIR. 



RIGHT DEAR IN THE SIGHT OF THE LOUD IS THF. DEATH 
OF HIS SAINTS.'' — PSALM CXVT. 



MEMOIR OF MRS. JOHN WEST 

WHO DIED AT CEETTLE, DORSET, 
MAPX'H 23, 1839. 

k 

BY JOHN WEST, A.M. 

RECTOR OF CHETTLE AND FAENHAM, DORSET. 




SECOND EDITION, ENLARGED. 



PUBLISHED BY R. B. SEELEY AND W. BURNSIDE; 

AND SOLD BY L. AND G. SEELEY, 

FLEET STREET, LONDON. 

MDCCCXLII. 



LADY CHARLOTTE STURT, 

THE FOLLOWING PAGES, 

ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, AS A TESTIMONY 

OF THE 

BEREAVED FAMILY'S GRATITUDE, 

FOR THE 

CHRISTIAN ESTEEM, SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, AND AFFECTIONATE 

KINDNESS SHOWN TO THE DECEASED. 



CONTENTS. 



PREFACES IX 

MEMOIR 1 

LETTERS TO HER SON .... 9 

TO HER DAUGHTER . . .34 

TO MISS H 51 

TO MISS S 74 

TO MISS C *89 

TO MRS. L.'o 103 

TO REV. C. A. L'O. . . .113 

TO MRS. N. . . . .118 

REFLECTIONS, WITH SHORT MEDITATIONS . 125 

LETTERS TO MISS A 155 

TO HER SON . . . .170 

HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH . . 229 



INDEX TO THE POEMS. 



All-beauteous flower thou art 
All here is deceptive, and empty, and vain 
And wilt thou now forsake me, Lord 
Away from my children 
Come, Holy Spirit, come 
Forget thee, forget thee, my sweet Caroline 
For him no more the violet sweet 
In all my restless weariness 
I've wandered far, I've wandered long- 
Jesus, thou art the sinner's friend 
Jesu, thy love alone can bless 
Lord of hosts, and King of kings 
My God, I own thy sentence just 
My Saviour, my Saviour, I fly 
Not the rudest wind that blows 
Not with thy rod 
O God, thou most high 
Oh ! I long to be free from pain 
O Lord my God, when thou art near 
O Lord my God to thee belong 
Oh ! look intently forward 
Oh ! many a friend before me 
Oh ! many a joyous morn my love 
Oh ! tell me, hast thou ever known 
Oh ! the shadows of earth 
Oh ! when shall I close these eyes 
Oh ! where dost thou come from 
There is a feeling of regret 
The damp dews of death 
Though life is all a fleeting show 
Why should I for happiness pant 
What are all the joys of earth . 
What is this calm holy dawning 



PAGE 

. 147 
. 134 

. 203 
. 46 
. 151 
. 50 
. 166 
. 153 
. 40 
. 152 
. 31 
. 255 
. 144 
. 268 
. 243 
. 125 
. 150 
. 256 
. 149 
. 128 
. 263 
. 88 
.131 
. 147 
. 241 
. 268 
. 154 
. 73 
. 275 
. 146 
. 43 
. 149 
. 145 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



The following Memoir is drawn up principally from 
the original papers and letters of the deceased ; and it will 
be found, it is believed, to pourtray the character of no 
common Christian, and a mind of no common order. 

It is hoped, that the first letters written to a part of her 
family, will not be found uninteresting to the general 
reader. They would not, however, have been given to the 
public, but in the expectation that they might be read in 
families, where under like circumstances young persons 
are leaving their parental roof, for the completion of their 
education. They shew the tender anxiety and affectionate 
watchfulness of a mother's care in bringing up, and direct- 
ing her children in the way to obtain their best happiness ; 
but the letters will speak for themselves, and the reader 
will find in them an affectionate correspondence, record- 
ing the joys and sorrows of a feeling heart. 

It will be seen, that her character was formed under the 
influential principles of the Gospel of Christ ; that she 



X PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

manifested those principles in the most attractive form of 
genuine Christianity, throughout much suffering affliction ; 
that she was a bright example of the Christian faith ; and 
that amidst many trials in the loss of six children, whom 
she most affectionately loved, she was habitually, and in 
no ordinary degree, a cheerful happy Christian, and de- 
parted this life with an assurance of hope in Jesus of a 
glorious immortality. 

Chettle Parsonage, 
April 20, 1840. 



PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



The Author has been much gratified with the favourable 
reception the First Edition of this work has met with from 
the Public ; and in publishing another Edition, he has sought 
to make the volume more interesting and valuable, by some 
additional letters and poetry. Among the very many testi- 
monies in favour of the Memoir, a highly-esteemed minister 
writes — " I am thankful indeed that the Memoir has been 
published ; I would not be without it, nor have the Church 
without it on any consideration. It is edifying and con- 
soling to the highest degree. God grant, of his infinite 
mercy, and for the Lord Jesu's sake, that we may be en- 
abled, when our hour comes, to triumph over the last 
sickness, and the last enemy, in the same way that the 
dear subject of the Memoir did, and by the same power." 

Chettle, Nov. 1, 1841. 



MEMOIR. 



The greatly esteemed and lamented subject of 
this Memoir, was the daughter of the Reverend 
Christopher Atkinson, M. A. formerly Fellow of 
Trinity College, Cambridge, from whence he was 
elected Fellow and Tutor of Trinity Hall, in the 
same university. 

On his marriage in the year 1785, with Miss 
Leycester, daughter of Sir Peter Byrne Leycester, 
Bart, of Tabley House, Cheshire, and sister of 
Sir John Fleming Leycester, Bart., the late Lord 
De Tabley, he took the curacy of Bolton-Percy in 
Yorkshire ; having been previously presented by 
the Master and Fellows of Trinity Hall, to the 
Living of Wethersfleld, in the county of Essex, 
where he became resident in the year 1792. 

In the spring of 1795, he died there of typhus 
fever, supposed to have been taken when visiting 
one of his parishioners : leaving a young family of 
six children, two sons and four daughters. 

B 



/If 



2 MEMOIR. 

Harriet, the second daughter, was born at 
Bolton-Percy, on the 22nd of March, 1789, and 
married the writer of this Memoir, in the year 
1807, twelve years after her father's decease. 

In giving this usual detail of birth and parent- 
age, I may mention that her father, when resident 
in Cambridge, and Incumbent of good old Bishop 
Latimer's church, St. Edward's, was the means 
of fostering the early religious sentiments of Mr. 
Simeon, then an undergraduate of King's College, 
who was seen standing in the aisle on each return- 
ing sabbath, as his devout and attentive hearer; 
and this faithful servant of God began his faithful 
preaching of the gospel of Christ, under which so 
many have risen up and called him blessed, as Mr. 
Atkinson's assistant in good old Latimer's pulpit. 

Mr. Simeon says, (in one of his posthumous 
papers, kindly afforded to the author,) " the 
way in which I became acquainted with Mr. At- 
kinson was this. I had endeavoured to find out 
some minister who preached those truths which I 
loved and delighted in ; and I attended at St. 
Mary's for a long time to but little purpose. At 
last I heard Mr. A. at St. Edward's, and he came 
nearer to the truth than any'one else that I could 
hear. I therefore, from the time that I became 
a Fellow of King's, attended regularly at his 
church. Being the only gownsman that attended 
there, I rather wandered he did not take any 



MEMOIR. 3 

notice of me. I thought that, if I were a min- 
ister and saw a young gownsman attending as 
regularly and devoutly as I did, 1 should invite 
him to come and see me ; and I determined if 
he should do so, I would avail myself of the 
opportunity to get acquainted with him. At last 
he did invite me to come and drink tea with him, 
and invited Mr. D. an artist, to come and meet 
me. The conversation did not take an useful 
turn, for Mr. D. was not what I should call a 
religious man, and we parted without any profit- 
able communication of our sentiments. In a few 
days I invited Mr. A. to come and sup with me, 
and asked Mr. D. to meet him. It happened that 
he could not come, so that Mr. Atkinson and 
I were t4te a t4te. I soon dropped some expres- 
sions, which conveyed the idea of my feeling 
myself a poor guilty, helpless sinner ; and Mr. 
A. was quite surprised ; for he had set it down as 
a matter of course, that I must be a staunch phar- 
isee. He had even, for the whole space of time 
that I had been at college, noticed my solemn and 
reverent behaviour at St. Mary's, and had con- 
cluded, as three of his pious friends had also done, 
that I was actuated by a proud pharisaical spirit ; 
when therefore he found that I was of a very 
different complexion, he manifested an union of 
heart with me, and introduced me the very next 
day to an excellent man, Mr. John Venn. Here 

B 2 



4 MEMOIR. 

I found a man after my own heart, a man for whom 
I have retained the most unfeigned love to his last 
moments, and of whom I shall ever retain the 
most affectionate remembrance ; he, the Rev. J. 
Venn, soon took me over to Yelling, and intro- 
duced me to a man of no ordinary character, — his 
own dear and honoured father, Oh ! what an 
acquisition was this ! In this aged minister I 
found a father, an instructor, and a most bright 
example ; and I shall have reason to adore my 
God to all eternity for the benefit of his acquaint- 
ance. This blessed man had often heard his son 
speak of the singular gownsman of King's Col- 
lege, and had advised him to get acquainted with 
him : but God, no doubt for wise and gracious 
reasons, had kept far from me all spiritual ac- 
quaintance, by which means he made it to appear 
the more clearly, that his work in me was " not of 
man, or by man, but of God alone." Being now 
acquainted with Mr. Atkinson, I undertook the 
care of his church during the long vacation, and I 
have reason to hope some good was done there. 
In the space of a month or six weeks, the church 
became quite crowded ; the Lord's table was at- 
tended by three times the usual number of com- 
municants, and a wind and a stir was among the 
dry bones." These circumstances, however, seem 
to have been a source of annoyance to the parish 
clerk, who (as Mr. Simeon used to relate the anec- 



MEMOIR. 5 

dote with much glee) greeted Mr. Atkinson on his 
return, saying, " Oh, Sir, how glad we be to see 
you back again ; for now there will be room for the 
people to sit down ; for since you have been gone, 
Sir, there has been no room scarcely to sit or 
stand in the church." 

There is no doubt an efficacy in the prayer of 
parents, who supplicate the throne of grace with 
deep interest for the spiritual welfare of their 
children, which sooner or later will be realized. 
" The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man 
availeth much." They may meet with many dis- 
couraging circumstances in the education of their 
children, and trials may occur that may make the 
heart of the righteous sad for a season, yet the 
promises to those who " bring them up in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord," are most 
encouraging. " I will pour my Spirit upon thy 
seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring." Isa. 
xliv. 3. " The promise is unto you, and to your 
children." Acts xi. 39. 

The subject of these pages was a child of many 
prayers, and losing an affectionate father in early 
life, the care of her education naturally devolved 
upon her mother, who possessed a strong and 
highly accomplished mind, and felt and taught the 
great importance of a sound scriptural education. 
It is due to her memory to mention, that she 
might have introduced her children, through her 



6 MEMOIR. 

high family connections, (and was often solicited 
to do so, by her brother, then Sir John Leycester, 
who was at that time living in the leading circles 
of fashionable life,) into a much promising world. 
She knew, however, its vortex of delusion, and was 
anxious that they should not place their youthful 
confidence in it for happiness; and often in the 
family, and by the way, she would point out to 
them, that however attractive in its appearance, 
and fascinating in its distinctions and gaiety of 
pleasure, the world was only calculated to disap- 
point the expectations of its most ardent admirers, 
while it mocked the simplicity of inexperienced 
and unsuspecting youth. 

With these just and correct views, she sought 
an education for her children, that would lead them 
to a source of happiness beyond what the world 
could afford. The accomplishments of life were 
not neglected ; but they were only attended to with 
a view to usefulness of character, under the full 
conviction of mind that they were but temporary ; 
while one maxim of moral wisdom, — l one sound 
religious principle, received, and brought forth 
into practice, goes forth and travels with us into 
eternity.' 

Harriet was ever beloved in the family for her 
warm affectionate disposition, and varied intellec- 
tual powers, and grew up all that an affectionate 
parent could wish. There was a mildness and 



MEMOIR. 7 

gentleness of manner, a native elegance of mind, 
with a simplicity and meekness of character, which 
won upon almost all with whom she conversed, 
and which has embalmed her memory in the re- 
membrance of many friends, who in after life 
enjoyed her friendship, and esteemed her very 
highly as a bright example in the Christian faith. 

It seems that her mind was very early impressed, 
through the domestic education which she received, 
with the importance of divine truth ; and that from 
youth up, she was led to see the evil of sin, and 
become afraid of offending God ; while she had a 
child-like dependence on his promised pardon and 
acceptance through the redeeming love of Christ. 
This appears from a memorandum found among 
her papers, which she made upon reading (during 
her last illness) a book which for the most part she 
greatly admired. " Erskine on the Freeness of 
the Gospel," which gives a very interesting account 
of the conversion of a young man who died at St. 
Helena, stating that " his faith appeared to have 
no mixture of imperfection in it, for he simply 
and sincerely took for granted all that God said in 
his word." " This, she noted, is my case ; I have 
never doubted the love of God to me, from the 
time I was first led in early life to seek him, and 
trust in his promised salvation." 

As a mother, she was wholly devoted to the 
education and welfare of her children ; and amidst 



8 MEMOIR. 

the numerous duties of the household, always 
found time for their daily instruction, as they suc- 
cessively claimed her attention. Her ability to 
communicate knowledge in an affectionate manner 
to children was remarkable ; and (let it not be 
thought that I am merely writing a panegyric on 
her character,) by her unwearied, most self-deny- 
ing and tender care, she succeeded in gaining that 
hold on the affections of her family which gave her 
the greatest power, as the means of fixing in their 
hearts those religious principles which were near- 
est her own. And in training up her children in 
the way in which they should go, she ever 
cherished the hope that they would be found stea- 
dily pursuing the path of truth, and that hereafter 
she should hail them before the throne of Him who 
has given one of the most encouraging promises in 
the Bible to young persons ; — " Those that seek 
me early shall find me." Prov. viii. 17. And who, 
when he was Upon the earth, said with tender 
regard to children of the earliest age, " Suffer 
little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Mark 
x. 14. 

John Rowland, the eldest, was a much treasured 
child from his infancy, and from the earliest dawn 
of reason, one of fondly-cherished expectations. 
Her strong parental affection, however, did not 
lead her to overlook the human heart, as the seat 



MEMOIR. 9 

of those little passions which were apparent in the 
infant at the breast. She combated them with the 
most affectionate playfulness and tenderness, and 
began to instruct him almost as soon as he could 
speak ; nor was she disappointed in her fondly- 
cherished hopes as to his future character. She 
lived to see him attain the distinction of fourth 
wrangler in the university of Cambridge, after- 
wards elected Fellow of Clare Hall, and presented 
by the Master and Fellows of that society to the 
living of Wrawby-cum-Brigg, in the county of 
Lincoln : but the mother's pleasure was most of all 
seen, when with tears of gratitude she heard him 
preach, as the faithful minister of Christ. 

The following letters will show with what affec- 
tionate solicitude she watched over his rising 
years, on his first leaving home for school, and 
during the period of his residence at Trinity Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 



LETTER I. 

My dear, dear John, 
I shall not attempt to tell you what I feel at 
this separation, because it would only pain you ; 
but I wish for you every hour, and every moment. 
Your constant attention to all my wishes, even 
from your infancy, has rendered you very, very 
b 5 



10 LETTERS. 

dear to me, and indeed, were I not fully persuaded 
that I should not be fulfilling my duty to you as a 
parent, by keeping you any longer at home, I 
never could have made up my mind to part with 
you : and now, my dearest boy, my only comfort 
night and morning is, in committing you alto- 
gether into the hands of your heavenly Father. 
May he abundantly bless you, and teach your 
young heart to love him. Oh, my dear child, 
never forget to pray earnestly night and morning 
for his blessing ; pray for his Holy Spirit to teach 
you, and to guide you, and to keep you from sin. 
Try to remember all I have said to you about 
your behaviour to your master and to your school- 
fellows ; to the former be respectful and attentive, 
never deceive him, or let any thing induce you to 
say what is not strictly true, I think I need not 
say be diligent, for I feel sure that you will be so ; 
to your schoolfellows, be kind and obliging, and 
never be persuaded to do any thing that you feel 
to be wrong ; do not forget me and your dear father 
in your prayers. 

Your truly affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Aldershott, March, 1822. 



LETTERS. 1 1 



LETTER II. 



My dearest John, 
I received your letter yesterday, and I bless 
God that you are well and comfortable. Do not 
be discouraged, my dear boy, at finding Homer 
difficult at first ; if you remember, Xenophon 
puzzled you a good deal when you first began to 
read it, and how soon it became easy to you ! so 
I doubt not it will be with Homer ; only apply to 
it in good earnest, and difficulties will soon vanish. 
I never knew you apply to any thing yet with all 
the powers of your mind that you did not soon 
master ; so take courage, my boy, have confidence 
in your own strength, I mean as to Latin and 
Greek, &c. aye, and writing English too — you fail 
in that more from being afraid of writing down 
what comes into your mind than any other cause. 
Throw away your lines too, it is a bad habit, de- 
pend upon it ; — never mind if you do write all 
across the paper at first, I will excuse it. Do you 
never find any time for Hebrew ? what Latin books 
are you reading ? do you want any French books 
to construe — shall I send you a Telemaque ? what 
do you do in your play -hours-— walk out or play ? 
a hundred more questions I could ask you, but 
only remember, that any thing and every thing 
from you will interest me : and so you need never 



\2 LETTERS. 

be at a loss for a subject to write about. Well, 
my dear boy, once more, — God bless you. If a 
mother's prayers can avail to bring down blessings 
on a child, you will be blessed ; for mine are daily 
and fervently offered up for you, and that you 
may be kept from sin, and led to shun every evil 
way. Oh ! that in your youth, you may have 
grace given you to turn to God with all your 
heart. Always accustom yourself to think of me 
as your best and dearest friend, with your dear 
father, and believe me, 

Your ever affectionate mother, 

H. W. 

Alder shott, April, 1822. 



LETTER III. 

My very dear John, 
You are this day so much in my thoughts that 
I must write to you, as I cannot see you. Your 
letters give me unmixed pleasure. — I have no 
greater joy than to see my children growing up in 
the fear of the Lord ; and you, my jirst-bom son, 
the child of my fondest hopes, of my earliest so- 
licitude, 'twas you who first awakened a mother's 
love in my heart, and while that heart continues 
to beat, you will possess a very large share of all 
its hopes ; and not till the last sigh, shall I cease 



LETTERS. 13 

to pray for you. Yes, my beloved boy, most ear- 
nestly indeed do both your father and myself unite 
with you in your prayers at a throne of grace. 

This day you complete your nineteenth year ; 
this day, a new year opens to you, and it is to you 
an important period of your life. How thankful 
am I to find you expressing yourself as aware of 
this, and also of your own weakness without the 
assistance of the Spirit of God. It is only in feel- 
ing our weakness that we are safe, for then we are 
led to flee to the Rock which is higher than us, 
uttering the petition of the Psalmist, " Hold thou 
me up, and I shall be safe." This is a prayer 
which we need use daily ; while I rejoice over you, 
my dear John, as a child of God, one whom I trust 
God the Spirit has sealed to the day of redemp- 
tion; one in whom, I do trust, the work of grace 
is begun, and in whom, it shall go on till grace is 
perfected in glory ; let me intreat you now, at the 
commencement of what to you is a new year, to 
enter by prayer into an engagement as it were 
with God, to devote yourself to him, in body, soul, 
and spirit; plead his promises — " Those that seek 
me early shall find me," &c. Though you know 
yourself to be unworthy of the least of all his mer- 
cies, yet plead with him for Jesus Chrises sake, 
that he will receive you as his own ransomed, 
adopted, beloved child, and enable you to love and 
serve him truly all the days of your life. You will 



14 LETTERS. 

indeed find this kind of surrender of yourself to God 
very delightful, and it will be a great means of 
strengthening you in every good feeling, and in 
every good word and work. One thing I particu- 
larly beg — but perhaps you do already make a 
practice of it — You rise very early, let your first 
and freshest moments be devoted to God, begin 
the day with reading a portion of his ivord, if only 
a part of a chapter, you will find it good and pro- 
fitable to you. Do this, and then pray, before 
you leave your room. You will feel the impres- 
sion go with you through the day, — and try to 
persuade Mr. H. to do the same. Has he got a 
Bible ? if not, make him a present of one. 

I am quite satisfied with what you tell me of the 
progress you have made in your studies this 
month ; indeed I think it a great point gained ; 
the discovery which you have made yourself, of the 
necessity of a critical knowledge of Latin and 
Greek. You will now gain ground solidly in your 
studies ; do not try to do too much, but what you 
do, do thoroughly. If you try too much, you will 
remember nothing, and confuse yourself. My dear 
child, may the blessing of God rest upon you in 
all its fulness, in all its richness. Oh ! if a mo- 
ther's prayers avail, if a mother's blessing avails, you 
have them both in their fullest extent, — my bless- 
ing and your dear father's blessing rest upon you 
wherever you are ; what more can I say ? if you 



LETTERS. 15 

are Christ's, and Christ is your's, my most anxious 
wishes are satisfied, — all is your's, and all in time, 
and eternity shall be well with you, 

Believe me, 
Your truly affectionate mother, 
H. W. 

July 30, 1827. 



LETTER IV. 



My dear John, 
You cannot tell how glad we all were to hear of 
your safe arrival at Cambridge ; and I cannot but 
feel thankful, that so far, every thing seems to have 
been ordered for you by an over-ruling providence 
according to my wishes : — and now may God so 
strengthen you, by his Spirit, that you may be 
enabled to hold fast your profession ; and to per- 
severe in the path of righteousness, for his name's 
sake, — for your own soul's sake, and may I not 
add for your parents' sake, whose prayers ascend 
daily to a throne of grace in your behalf, and 
who are now waiting with much interest to see in 
you the fulfilment of their fondest hopes. Write 
to me very soon, and tell me how you like a 
college life. We laughed heartily at the account 



16 LETTERS. 

which you gave of yourself as a Freshman, in 
going to chapel, with the arm left out of the 
surplice, &c. &c. I was pleased, and thankful, 
that you had courage to speak as you did to the 
person you mention ; always do so, my dear boy, 
when occasion calls for it. It would be a good 
plan to invite the person so objecting to the 
preacher, and forming so hasty a judgment, to come 
with you and hear for himself, by which means 
you might be of use to him. Never let a morn- 
ing pass without earnestly imploring the Divine 
assistance for that day especially, that you may be 
prepared for any unforeseen temptation ; — and never 
be ashamed to confess Christ before men, that at 
the last day he may not be ashamed of you. 

Tell C. firmly, though kindly, that unless he 
alters his mode of living, you cannot associate 
with him, — your own character would suffer, if 
you are seen with him ; this must not be, — your 
dear father is more anxious about you, than he 
is wont to be ; he knows so well the temptations 
and snares to which you may be exposed. May 
God in his mercy and love watch over you, 
strengthen and preserve you every day, and each 
moment of the day. I have written and enclosed 
a letter to Mr. Simeon, which I wish you to call 
with yourself. He will be kind, and enter into 
conversation with you : be very fearless and open 
with him ; it is the way to gain his friendship, 



LETTERS. 17 

which may be of great value to you. — Ever be- 
lieve me in life, or in death. 

Your truly affectionate mother, 
H. W. 

Chettle, October 20th, 1827. 



LETTER V. 

My beloved and very dear son, 
I have thought more of you than usual, since 
the reception of your last, and have suffered some 
perplexity of mind respecting the tendency of 
your studies, and whether it can be right to per- 
severe in reading for honours. I confess, how- 
ever much I had lamented that the studies at 
Cambridge should be so exclusive of that one 
study which alone can be worthy of the whole 
energy of the mind ; yet I had made up my mind, 
that seeing things were so, it was your path of 
duty to press forward in your literary pursuits, 
in order to fit yourself for any station in after 
life to which the providence of God might lead ; 
or in which you might be most usefully employed 
for his glory. I see from your expressions in 
your last letters, that you are perplexed in your 
own mind in this matter. Why not speak of your 
perplexity to Mr. Simeon; I am quite sure he would 
rejoice in giving you his advice. This seems to 



18 LETTERS. 

me however the straight-forward path for you, 
as far as I am capable of judging. You can 
hardly afford to act exactly as if you had an in- 
dependency. Cecil used to say to his children, and 
it is your dear father's sentiment, — " Do some- 
thing, — have a profession, — be eminent in it, — 
make yourself independent.'''' But in saying this, 
remember I would never have you so pursue your 
classical and mathematical studies, as to lead you 
to forget God your Saviour. Your first thoughts 
should be His. Devote the early hour of the 
morning to Him, in reading your bible, or some 
portion of a sound religious book, and in prayer ; 
this would give your mind a devotional feeling, 
and your studies would be pursued in a different 
frame of mind through the day. Then again, the 
last hour, or half hour at least, should be devoted 
to God ; which would turn the course of your 
thoughts and feelings ; and so take off the effects 
of your daily studies as you retired to rest. You 
should strive also, very often in the course of the 
day, to lift up your heart in short ejaculatory 
prayer, which perhaps as much as any thing 
keeps the heart right with God. Neither should 
you suffer your studies to injure your health. 
Neither sit up too late, this is decidedly bad : and be 
sure to take regular exercise. I know perfectly well 
it is easier to advise than to act, — but this I mean 
to say, — so far as you can pursue your studies, 



LETTERS. 19 

consistently with what you owe to God, to your 
own soul, and to your bodily health, pursue them, 
but no farther. I quite agree with you that they 
must be a secondary concern. I have suffered 
much in my health for some months past ; but 
have got through the severe winter pretty well. 
I cannot express what a longing desire I have to 
see you again. Oh my child, you can form no 
idea, how fondly my heart loves you, — may God 
bless you, ever more and more. 

Your truly affectionate mother, 
H.W. 

CUUle, 1828. 



LETTER VI. 

My dearest John, 
I do most sincerely thank you for your letter, 
it cheered my heart to hear the old clerk's trem- 
bling voice at the door, saying on his return from 
the post, ' a letter from Mr. John.' I thank you 
for your hind affectionate solicitude about my 
health, and for the information on Geology. I 
want the exact meaning, derivation, &c. of that 
word, it interests me much : and though perhaps 
I am rather sceptical, yet it so interests me that 
I want to know more. If the Isle of Wight is 
really turned edgeways, it is an object of great 
interest, and if the strata there are really perpen- 



20 LETTERS. 

dicular, (I suppose it must be so) I should like 
to go and examine it myself. In the collection P of 
fossils which we are making, there are some pieces 
that strike me particularly ; they are flat, and 
covered over with the fibres like small roots of trees: 
what are they, and what are those little fossils 
like mushrooms ? I should like to continue at 
Lyme through the winter, unless it be thought 
that the air of Devonshire is likely to be more 
beneficial to me. I certainly gain strength, but 
am far from well. I am so thankful that you con- 
tinue well, and always thankful at your expres- 
sions of happiness. A cheerful contented dispo- 
sition, is a gift of God which calls for constant 
thankfulness. 

" Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 
Which tastes those gifts with joy." 

You are now, I think, getting on in your studies ; 
though the very thought of seeing you, at all 
times cheers my heart, yet would I forego this 
happiness for your advantage. Is it not better 
for you to remain at Cambridge the vacation ? I 
am so glad that you have Mr. Whewell as your 
tutor, and for his kind attention to you. Don't 
you go to him with your puzzles ? Was the pillar 
pulled down upon the plan you had thought of? 
But there is apart of your letter which interested 
me most deeply. You express regret that your 



LETTERS. 21 

convictions of sin are not strong. I am not at all 
surprised at this. In the care of your education, 
and from early habits, you have, through Divine 
mercy, been kept from gross sins ; and it is pro- 
bable that you will never feel those strong con- 
victions of sin which some do. It is against the 
sins of the heart which you have continually to 
strive. The same seed of corruption is in all 
our hearts ; and it is Sovereign Grace alone, 
which makes one to differ from another : and the 
more you are led to see the deep depravity of the 
human heart, and to feel that all you think and 
all you do is defiled with sin, being imperfect ; 
and nevertheless to feel, and believe that these 
sins, all aggravated as they may be, are freely 
pardoned and washed away by the blood of Christ, 
never more to be remembered against you, — the 
more will that hardness over which you mourn, be 
subdued. Surely a sense of sin forgiven will melt 
the most obdurate heart ; you sometimes fear also 
whether you have a new principle of action im- 
planted in your heart: — my dear John, it is an un- 
speakable mercy to desire and wish to feel this 
new principle ; be earnest therefore in prayer, and 
be assured, that he who has given you this desire, 
will likewise give you to know more and more of 
this new and living spring of action — and above 
all, a feeling sense of Christ's dying love, in pouring 
out his soul unto death, even for you, my dear, dear 



22 LETTERS. 

son. I humbly trust that you are a child of God; — 
that the desire of your heart is to love him more 
supremely ; — what then is the feeling that keeps 
youfromhis Table ? You lament over the hardness 
of your heart ; —where should you best get that 
hardness subdued, and melted into love, but at 
his table, while you partake of the outward signs 
of his body broken, and his blood shed for you. 
But I think I can judge of your feelings by my 
own in this matter ; self here prevents your enjoy- 
ing that holy ordinance as you would do, a kind of 
nervous feeling keeps you back ; is it not so ? self 
is at the bottom of this, but whatever it is, hesitate 
no longer, carry your burden to the foot of the 
cross. "Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me 
clean." " I will," was the gracious reply, " be 
thou clean." All we know of sin, and all we feel 
of self, shews us further, the need we have of the 
atonement of Christ. Oh plead with him who 
never refused a single plea for mercy. Plead his 
own promises, and may his Holy Spirit fill your 
whole soul with peace and joy. I am grieved at 
what you mention of H. — beware, my beloved son, 
as you value your immortal soul, of giving ear to 
such questions — it is questions like these, that draw- 
away the youthful mind before it is aware. If 
Christ be not God, the whole Bible is false, see to 
what fearful conclusions such questions lead. May 
God keep you, my own dear child, from all danger ; 



LETTERS. 23 

both outwardly in your body, and inwardly in 
your soul, and may you grow in grace and in the 
knowledge of your God and Saviour, day by day. 
How I should like to be in a secret corner to wit- 
ness your reception of your college-prize next 
week ; mind you write me an exact account of the 
whole proceedings. 

Yours in all affection. 

H. W. 

Lyme, 1828. 

LETTER VII. 

My dear John, 
Your letters I received yesterday, deeply af- 
fected me with joy, — nothing in this world can 
give me equal pleasure to that which arises in 
my heart, whenever I think of you as my child, 
whom God has redeemed for ever. Though it 
escaped me in my last, to wish you a happy new- 
year, nevertheless, you know I did wish it for you 
over and over again, although I forgot to tell you so. 
It is a most profitable way of spending the closing 
evening of the year, in calling to mind the events 
which have taken place, as that year has speeded 
its way into forgetfulness ; in endeavouring to trace 
out our own principles of action during the by-gone 
days — in looking narrowly into our own hearts, 
and examining strictly into our motives — our feel- 



24 LETTERS. 

ings — our views — what have our pleasures arisen 
from —what our disappointments — what end have 
we proposed to ourselves as the one object of 
pursuit : in short, to whom, — for what have we 
lived? — We cannot go through such an examination, 
without deeply perceiving, that in ourselves we 
are indeed "poor, blind, and naked." — Can we 
recal one single hour, and say, this hour at least was 
devoted wholly, without one wandering thought, 
to God ? Oh no ! — then where does this lead us ? 
To the foot of the cross. There only we are safe, 
and there, my dear, dear child, there, we are safe. 
O for the Holy Spirit's sense of sin ! the Spirit's 
sight of Christ! the Spirit's work of obedience. 
That something within you, which tells you no- 
thing is worth your real concern but an interest in 
the atonement of Jesus Christ, is the voice of con- 
science, enlightened and taught by God's Holy 
Spirit. You feel that you would not give up your 
hope in Christ for all the world, or for what ten 
thousand worlds could offer. Oh, my dear John, 
who has given you this feeling 1 Cast not away 
your confidence, which has great recompense of 
reward. Encourage yourself to believe that God 
loves you, that you are his own ransomed, par- 
doned, accepted child, accepted in Christ Jesus : 
and what does this lead to ? " Ye are bought 
with a price, therefore glorify God in your bodies, 
and in your spirits, which are His. Having these 



LETTERS. 25 

promises" let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness 
of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the 
fear of God." I rejoice with you, and for you, 
whenever I think of God's mercy to you, the child 
of my dearest hopes. He is tenderly leading you 
to himself, shewing you what the natural heart is, 
in its uncleanness and guilt, giving you to see the 
beauty of holiness, and to feel a longing desire 
after it, and at the same time strengthening you, 
whereby you are enabled to resist sin. The Chris- 
tian life is a warfare, which I know, can only end 
with our lives, yet I am convinced that it is possible 
to attain to a much greater degree of holiness than 
that which is generally seen in Christians. Oh then 
press forward. Pray earnestly, not only for for- 
giveness of sin, but for deliverance from its power. 
There is a present salvation, as well as a future 
salvation. The one is a pledge, the earnest of the 
other. Seek with self-denying singleness of heart 
to devote yourself to God. Oh, the world on 
which you are just entering has deceived the 
hearts of multitudes, it is full of temptations, full 
of snares, full of vanity, and you have to contend 
with a heart, every emotion of which naturally 
pleads in favour of the world, although we know 
it is at enmity with God. What is before you I 
cannot foresee. Through many and many a year, 
it has been my joy, my privilege, to guide you — to 
counsel you, to watch over you, and to prevent 
c 



26 LETTERS. 

your every wish. Now, I must commit you to 
God, and it is my joy, my solace to believe, that 
he is watching over you and will guide your every 
step through life ; and that we shall through infi- 
nite grace, spend a joyful eternity together, in the 
presence of him, who, having redeemed us to God 
by his blood, sitteth upon the throne for ever and 
ever. 

Disappointments you must expect to meet with 
— disappointments in friendship too — which are 
the most painful of any. Should you at any time 
meet D. be kind, but at the same time, I should 
not attempt to conceal that his conduct had grieved 
me. There is a consciousness of our own worth, 
as it regards others, very different from pride, and 
which is quite consistent with the deepest self- 
abasement in the sight of God. Let no one des- 
pise thy youth; be just to thyself; above all 
things, strive to walk with God in holy communion ; 
then you will go on your way, with quiet confi- 
dence and joy, and these kind of disappointments 
will but lightly affect you. 

Your very affectionate mother, 

H. W. 

Exeter, January, 1829. 



LETTERS. %7 



LETTER VIII. 



My very dear John, 
I am thankful to say that I have returned to 
Chettle with improved health. I was delighted to 
find from your letter, that you have been elected a 
scholar of Trinity college, and that you are getting 
on so well with your mathematics. I trust you 
are not so studying as to hurt your health ; always 
remember your promise to me on that head. What 
abundant causes for thankfulness and joy, upon 
the retrospect of your few past years of life — you 
are spared, when brothers and sisters have been 
called away ; your mental powers all preserved to 
you in full vigour, and I trust your mind rightly 
biassed, and your best affections fixed upon God 
your Saviour. Oh ! there is no earthly joy, not 
one feeling of pleasure upon earth, for one moment 
to be compared to that one feeling of quiet peace 
arising from the well-grounded assurance that God 
is our reconciled Father in Jesus Christ. While 
others are spending much time in differing about 
modes of expression (for after all it comes to this 
merely), such a soul, feeling that his sins are par- 
doned, will throw himself at the foot of the cross, 
and there day by day, will gain strength to fight 
the good fight of faith, and lay hold of eternal life. 
I do not at all object to your conclusion of the 

C 2 



28 LETTERS. 

whole matter, in writing on the subject of the cor- 
ruption of human nature, you say, " the course of 
mans desires and affections is turned aside into a 
wrong channel, and has no tendency to turn into 
the right one, but rather to go further and further 
from it." I do not wish for any thing stronger or 
more explicit ; — as Erskine says, man has lost his 
gravitation ; — but I must copy a paragraph from 
him that delights me — " The centripetal force con- 
stitutes an element in every line which the planet 
moves in its orbit. "Were the influence of this 
force to be suspended, we should not think of 
reckoning the number of aberrations which the 
planet might make in its ungoverned career, we 
should say that its whole manner of being, severed 
from the solar influence, was a continued and 
radical aberration. In like manner, the soul ought 
to feel the love of God as a governing element 
along the whole course of its existence, every move- 
ment of thought, feeling, and desire, ought to contain 
it, as an essential part of its nature. And when 
this principle is wanting, we need not count the 
moral aberrations which the spirit makes ; its 
whole existence is an aberration, it is an outlaw 
from the spiritual system of the universe, it has 
lost its gravitation." I have never read Butler, 
but it seems to me, that all he says does not in the 
least contradict the scriptural doctrine, that man 
has entirely lost the image of God in his soul. He 



LETTERS. 29 

has a quick perception of right and wrong — his 
judgment is good, and therefore he has more to 
answer for ; he is quick enough in condemning the 
very sin in another, which he allows perhaps in his 
own bosom ; and this is why general disapproba- 
tion is expressed, and even felt, at wicked conduct, 
and laws are made if possible to restrain it ; there 
certainly seems some good feeling left in the soul 
towards his fellow men ; but how far this is, or is 
not, the effect of education, I am not prepared to 
say. I have never been in the habit of thinking 
closely on these subjects; as Erskine says again, 
" the difficulties in the theological system have 
never disquieted me. The object of my contem- 
plation has not been so much a theological system, 
as the Great Being whose nature and relation to 
us form the theme of theology." My delight is in 
the contemplation of his love to a fallen world ; 
this is a theme which never wearies me, and the 
more I look into it, the more I am lost in wonder 
and joy ; so I think we will dwell no longer on 
poor fallen human nature, for I long to dwell on 
something more cheering ; something, the conside- 
ration of which shall raise our earthly feelings from 
ruin, and desolation, and woe, to renovation and 
holiness, and joy. I quite like your remarks on 
Moore, always freely express what you think with 
regard to any thing I say. 

Ever your affectionate mother. H. W. 

Chettle, 1830. 



30 LETTERS. 

LETTER IX. 

My dearest John, 
Most welcome was the sight of your own hand- 
writing last Tuesday morning, I cannot tell you 
with what deep feelings of interest I read your 
letter. I went with you in imagination back to 
Cambridge, and was pleased to find that two of 
your pupils had got their scholarships. I saw all 
smiling around you in prospect, your own charac- 
ter esteemed and respected, and every thing yet 
obtained that you have wished for, and yet what 
is the feeling ? — my dearly-loved child, it is what I 
have felt again and again, and for ever ; it is not 
discontent, it is indeed a restless dissatisfaction 
with every thing this world can give ; it says just 
this, Nothing short of God can satisfy an immortal 
soul ; it matters not where we are, the world may 
smile upon us or not ; the country around us may 
be Pinney Cliffs, or Chettle Downs, or dull ugly 
Cambridgeshire, it matters not, — where God is, 
there is peace, there is a satisfied feeling, — without 
him, all is dark, and vain, and wild. God dwelling 
in the soul (think of that expression) by his 
Holy Spirit, this, and this alone can overpower 
and set at rest for ever all those feelings, those 
ten thousand thousand feelings which, the more 
refinement of mind you possess, the more you will 
be subject to ; and this must have been our 






LETTERS. ol 

Saviour's meaning when he said to that poor 
woman of Samaria, " Whosoever drinketh of the 
water that I shall give him, shall never thirst, but 
the water that I shall give him shall be in him a 
well of water springing up into everlasting life." 
I remember meeting in some poet with this ex- 
pression, ( a well-spring of deep gladness.' I know 
not where, it seems the only expression that lives 
in my memory ; but I often apply it in my own 
mind to the habitual feeling of the soul when at 
peace with God, and conscious, if I may venture 
to say so, of the presence of an indwelling God. 
It was this feeling which one morning drew from 
me the following lines. 

Jesu, thy love alone can bless 

My spirit in this wilderness, 

Thy love alone breathed o'er my soul, 

Can fear dispel or sin control. 

A consciousness that I am thine, 
And, my God ! that thou art mine ; 
This, this alone seems Heaven to me, 
For what is heaven, but being with thee. 

Oh could this joy so bright and pure, 
Could it in this cold world endure ; 
The spirit resting in thy love, 
No other joy would care to prove, 
Her heaven on earth, her heaven above. 

But, dearest John, you must check these feel- 
ings of dissatisfaction, because their tendency is to 
destroy present usefulness — they are good as far 
as to shew us, that here is not our rest, but the 



32 LETTERS. 

moment they produce inactivity, they are bad. I 
am ashamed to say, that hours of my life have 
been given up to vainly regretting the past, or 
uselessly anticipating the future, so the poor pre- 
sent has been forgotten — its mercies and its re- 
quirements unheeded. To be useful in our day 
and generation is the great thing, — to serve God 
with fidelity in that station of life, in which he is 
pleased to appoint our daily lot, and leave caring 
so much about any place, satisfied that He will 
appoint the bounds of our habitation — and ha- 
bitually looking forward, far, far beyond the 
boundaries of our sensible horizon, to those glo- 
rious regions, those brighter worlds, where " our 
Hermit Spirits" shall no more dwell alone, but 
where one strong feeling of love shall bind us each 
to the other for ever. Remember, you are where 
the Providence of God seems to have marked out 
your path at present. You are usefully employed, 
and I believe God has blessed, and will bless you. 
Cherish a thankful state of feeling. I know you do 
this. The Psalmist says — " It is a good thing to 
give thanks, yea, a joyful and a pleasant thing it is 
to be thankful." Let us praise God together for 
all that is past, and trust him for all that is yet to 
come. I love to receive every blessing at the hand 
of God, as an earnest of blessings yet to come. We 
honour him, when we trust him entirely, and con- 
fidently and affectionately ; — and when did any one 



LETTERS. S3 

so trust him, and find themselves disappointed : — 
and now I find I am coming to a conclusion, with- 
out having touched upon the subjects I intended. 
I think we are quite agreed on this point. My 
idea is this, that there is that subtle poison intro- 
duced into the soul by the fall of man, that with- 
out a strong restraining power, he would become 
as vile as any devil in hell ; the image of God is 
destroyed, he is not yet a devil ; true, there is some 
appearance of the work of God left, but the like- 
ness of God is gone. It is the work of the Holy 
Spirit to restore in some degree that likeness 
during this life in the souls of the children of God, 
but his work will not be complete till the resurrec- 
tion morning ; then we shall be satisfied, for we 
shall awake up in His likeness. I will write again 
soon, as your affection leads you to love to hear 
from a mother, who can with truth say, that she 
longs for the salvation of your soul, as for her own. 
May God grant your own desire, and enable you 
" to love and serve him before all else " — it shall 
be to your happiness through life, and glory for 
ever. 

The starch hyacinth which you brought me in 
affectionate attention, still holds up its head in the 
middle of the little basket of flowers before me in 
the drawing-room. All send their love, with 
Your affectionate Mother always, 

CAe8fe, 1830. H. W. 

C 5 



34 LETTERS. 

The following letters which were written to her 
eldest daughter, on her leaving home for a twelve- 
month, that she might derive those advantages 
which she could not meet with in a domestic edu- 
cation, shew an equally affectionate concern for 
the formation of a truly Christian character. 

And while her letters are distinguished for talent 
and piety, her poetry will be read, as compositions 
of a fine imagination, and deep pathos. 



LETTER I. 

My dearest Harriett, 
I was very pleased to find that you had arrived 
safe at Notting Hill, where I am persuaded you 
will meet with every kind attention, and where I 
hope you are beginning to feel at home and 
settled. I am sure, you will apply all the energies 
of your mind to your studies, and I trust God will 
preserve you in health, and bless you in all your 
exertions. Ever bear in mind, my dear child, that 
without His blessing nothing is worth having, but 
with it, all knowledge is good, and may be con- 
secrated to his service. The world is a weary 
wilderness, without the saving knowledge of God 
in Christ Jesus, disappointing our fondest hopes — 
bearing the stamp of vanity and vexation of spirit 
upon its best enjoyments : with God, however, 



LETTERS. 85 

there is " many a sunny hour " and many a bright 
green spot even in this wilderness, and many a 
pure pleasure, and many a real joy, while every 
blessing shall be doubly sweet, as coming from a 
Father's hand. 

It is true, my dear Harriett, though young, you 
have known what sorrow is, and wept with me 
some bitter tears, in the loss which we have sus- 
tained in the death of your dear sisters who were 
entwined about my heart, in the bonds of the 
closest and tenderest earthly affection. I do not 
wish you to forget it, but Oh ! may it be blessed 
of God to your soul. There is that in sorrow, 
such as you have so lately passed through, which 
is well calculated to chasten and subdue every 
feeling of the soul ; I miss you every hour, I knew 
it would be so — but for your sake I am content, — 
I console myself by remembering that it is not for 
long, and that you will return to me more of a 
comfort than ever. I have had a large share of 
sorrow, but I have also had a large share of joy in 
my dear children ; and the greatest joy I can now 
know on earth, will be to see those dear children, 
who are yet spared to me — " walking in the 
truth ; " may God himself keep you and guide 
you. I hope you remember habitually to look to 
him for a blessing on all you do, and think some- 
times of all I used to say to you ; The happiness 
of my children is the first wish of my heart — to 



86 LETTERS. 

see them happy is my delight ; but if I cannot see 
it, then to hear that they are so makes me happy : 
but my solicitudes do not stop here — are not 
bounded for them by any earthly horizon — my 
earnest prayers go up day by day to the throne 
of God, more especially now that you are ab- 
sent from me, my child. I assure you, I can 
scarcely mention your name before Jehovah's 
throne without tears ; yes, they mingle with my 
prayers for you ; and Oh ! I trust that, sprinkled 
with my Saviour's blood, they shall ascend, and 
find acceptance before that rainbow-encircled 
throne ; and that you, my child, shall be saved 
with an everlasting salvation. 

Do not be too hasty in forming friendships, often 
recollect yourself — spend no time in frivolous con- 
versations — such as have not the fear of God be- 
fore their eyes, from such turn away, unless you 
can be of service to them. May God bless you, 
my dear child. 

Ever your most affectionate mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1832. 



LETTER II. 

My dearly loved Child, 
Your letters give me pleasure ; I am glad your 
time seems so well employed: for though it would 



LETTERS. 37 

not do to spend your life in this way, yet at pre- 
sent it is your duty. I trust you daily bear in 
mind our Lord's kind admonition, — " One thing is 
needful." The world, with all its cares, and plea- 
sures, and vanities, and joys, and sorrows, and sins, 
is quickly passing away — nothing will appear to 
you of any real moment by and by, but to have a 
well assured hope of an interest in that Saviour 
who gave himself for us ; — my dear child, may you 
indeed be his in that day when he shall make up 
his jewels. 

Thank you for your kind affectionate wishes for 
me — much of the happiness of my future years 
will depend upon you. I rejoice that you are im- 
proving yourself in those accomplishments of which 
you are so fond — all I fear, is, my loved child, lest 
these things should have an undue hold of your 
affections — they are very ensnaring ; the more so, 
because there is no harm in them, nothing but 
what is pleasing and delightful — therefore they are 
yielded to without fear, and therefore are they 
more to be guarded against, because they certainly 
do injure the spirituality of the mind — their very 
elegance draws the heart from God, because it 
gives a certain sort of worldliness, and a softness 
which indisposes for the most serious duties of 
religion. To prevent this, make a point of 
reading your Bible every day with prayer, and also 
some other book which may tend to solemnize 



38 LETTERS. 

your mind, and make your heart serious and 
thoughtful. Oh, my child, often call to mind for 
what end you live, for what world you are pre- 
paring. Remember, that religion is not the feel- 
ing now and then earnest wishes for heaven — it is 
a new manner of being — it is having the heart 
right with God. If you ask me how you shall 
attain more spirituality of mind, I can only tell 
you — by earnest prayer — it is the gift of God. 
Oh! if we did but believe, we should joyfully let 
go all the pleasures of this poor fallen world, and 
seek in earnest those better joys, which are surely 
reserved for all those who love their Saviour ; may 
we meet at last around his throne, and sing his 
praises together there — then we shall know what 
redeeming love means. May he ever bless you, 
my ever dear Harriett, 

Your ever affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Oietth, 1832. 

LETTER III. 

My dearest Child, 
How thankful I have been to hear such good 
accounts of you, and you can guess how rejoiced I 
was to see your hand-writing again after your ill- 
ness. Do not for a single moment let it distress 
you, that in your present state of health, you are 






LETTERS. 39 

losing time. Remember this has not come to you 
by chance. I humbly trust that God has given you 
grace to love him, and has implanted a filial fear 
of offending Him in your heart ; then you may be 
sure, that every event of your life will be ordered 
for you, by a reconciled Father's hand, by a Fa- 
ther's love. Seek therefore by humble earnest 
prayer, to make the present time of incapacity for 
your studies, a time for the improvement of your 
soul — a leisure time, which God has given to gain 
a further knowledge of himself, a further know- 
ledge of your own heart, a time in which to ex- 
amine yourself, and see how you feel as regards 
eternity, — so that you will find in the end, that 
you are not losing, but gaining. Let us praise God 
together, for bringing you through your illness so 
tenderly ; receive this, my child, as an earnest of 
mercies yet to come, and set out afresh in your 
Christian course. Think again and again what 
you are, and whose you are, — what are your mo- 
tives, your principle of action : and may the Holy 
Spirit of God dwell richly in your heart, and 
bless you, in restoring you to good health, and in 
your soul's prosperity. 

Are you not pleased with our summer prospects, 
when I trust, we shall be so happy all together ? 
but Oh ! my dear child, I almost tremble while I 
say so — and yet I do trust we may be permitted 
to realize the pleasure we are anticipating. We 



40 LETTERS. 

are counting the days now to your return to our 
dear Parsonage for the Midsummer holidays. You 
express a wish for some of my poetry, I will send 
you some of my early compositions in verse. 
Your truly affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1832. 



Fve wandered far, I've wandered long 
O'er many a distant hill I've been, 
I've strayed new fields and woods among, 
And many a beauteous prospect seen ; 
But no new scenes can pleasure yield 
Or touch my heart like Weathersfield. 



* 



I've seen the ever-flowing tide, 
And rode upon the green sea wave ; 
I've climbed the mountain's craggy side, 
And seen the witches' darksome cave, 
But prospects wild no joy can yield, 
My heart is still at Weathersfield. 

I rambled by a river's side, 
My favourite flower t grew sweetly there, 
I thought of days long past, and sighed, 
Then plucked and twined them round my hair 
A pensive joy these wild flowers yield, 
They tell me of my Weathersfield. 

* The home of her childhood and youth. 
+ The large white Convolvulus. 



LETTERS. 41 

And often have I fondly wished 

That these loved flowers when I am dead, 

Might sweetly twine around my grave, 

And bind the turf where I am laid, 

A transient joy the thought would yield, 

Could that last home be Weathersfield. 



LETTER IV. 

My dearest Harriett, 
It was with real pleasure that I opened your let- 
ter, and found that all was well with you. I look 
back with delight to the few weeks you were with 
us, especially because you enjoyed them so much ; 
but now you must so far forget them, as not to let 
the remembrance of them, though pleasing, inter- 
fere with your present pursuits ; but give the 
whole energy of your mind to your different 
studies, so as to ensure yourself the satisfaction of 
feeling, when the year is past, that you have ob- 
tained all the advantage you possibly could. 
Well, I shall always look back to this summer as 
one of the green spots, which we meet with now 
and then in our journey through life, every one of 
which I desire to bless God for. You will receive 
this on to-morrow, your birth-day ; many, many 
happy returns of the day, my child — your mother's 
blessings, your mother's wishes, your mother's 



42 LETTERS. 

prayers, are all with you, and ten thousand bless- 
ings from both your parents rest upon you, my 
child. I hope you will enjoy the day in your own 
mind, at least ; we shall think of you, and talk of 
you, and very often wish for you — may God bless 
and keep you, and enable you to resolve again in 
his strength, to devote yourself to him for ever. 
Be assured, that nothing short of this will ever 
render you happy ; nothing short of an entire and 
unreserved surrender of the whole heart to God, 
your Saviour, will ever give peace, even in this 
life. May God enable you, by the powerful influ- 
ences of ^his Holy Spirit, to feel this ; and may he 
in infinite mercy and love, draw your affections 
from earth more and more, daily, and fix them 
upon himself — the only friend who never changes — 
the only arm that never fails to support — the only 
bosom on which you can safely lean — the only 
shelter in which you can take refuge from every 
storm — the only resting-place, the sole anchor of 
the soul when every thing earthly crumbles away 
from the hand that grasps it. My dearly-loved 
child, may I but see you safe in this hiding-place 
— this ark, I can desire for you nothing more. 
Safe in time, safe in eternity, — God being your 
portion of happiness for ever and ever. 

Your most affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1832. 



LETTERS. 43 

Why should I for happiness pant, 
In a world where it never was found ? 
Ah yes ! there once bloomed such a plant 
But too soon it was cut to the ground. 

In Paradise sweetly it bloomed, 
And I would it had bloomed there for ever, 
But it withered away, when man sinned, 
And on earth it can bloom again never. 

Thorns and brambles now grow in its stead, 
And though sometimes sweet roses appear, 
Yet, ah ! if we pluck them, we find 
That a thorn will still closely adhere. 

So it is with all pleasures below, 
Tho' awhile they allure the young mind, 
Yet those who have tried them must know 
That a sting they will still leave behind. 

Then if here are no pleasures for man 
No unalloyed pleasures or rest, 
Oh ! why were such boundless desires 
For happiness fixed in his breast ? — 

'Twas to lead him to pleasures on high 
Where alone thornless roses can blow, 
To joys which ne'er wither nor die, 
But in endless succession shall flow. 

'Twas to teach him to look to his God, 
Who alone can impart lasting pleasure, 
To believe in his Saviour and live, 
And be happy for ever and ever. 



44 LETTERS. 

LETTER V. 

My dearest Child, 
Your letter which I received yesterday, I could 
not read without many tears. Oh ! Harriett, what 
a sad, sad trial for the poor bereaved parents ; how 
have they borne the loss of their dear child, snatch- 
ed away so unexpectedly in the midst of blooming 
years, and fond anticipations in life. I do not 
wonder that you have been shocked ; you must 
indeed have felt it very much ; the very same fever, 
nearly a year ago, that broke through our most 
fondly-formed schemes of happiness. Poor dear 
girl! I weep for her, I weep for' her afflicted 
parents; while at the same time, my heart can- 
not but acknowledge with gratitude, the mercy 
shown to me ; my beloved child has been spared, 
and is in health ; a few weeks since, and your dear 
companion was walking with you, and together 
you were talking of enjoyments, of hours of hap- 
piness yet to come, and now, one is taken and the 
other left. It is a solemn thought. Oh ! try not 
to lose the seriousness of feeling which this sad 
event has been so calculated to produce ; you are 
yet spared, we know not for how long, remember, 
my dear Harriett, you were devoted to God at 
your baptism, you renewed your covenant with 
him yourself, at your confirmation ; Oh ! throw 



LETTERS. 45 

yourself now again at the footstool of his throne, 
and make a full surrender of your whole soul to 
him ; petition him with your whole heart, that he 
will seal you his till the day of redemption. 

The only thing that can give solid peace to the 
heart is a well-grounded hope of acceptance with 
God, through Jesus Christ — then, let what will 
happen, all is well ; a full pardon is sealed in his 
blood to all who feel their sinfulness. May this 
full pardon be yours, my dear child — when 
you most feel that you are indeed helpless and 
poor, and in yourself utterly worthless and lost, 
then it is that you will feel all the comfort of that 
one thought — Jesus has died, and / am safe. En- 
deavour, habitually, to turn in your thoughts to 
Jesus Christ; think of him, as having died for your 
sins, risen for your justification, ascended to the 
right hand of God, and ever living to make inter- 
cession for you ; try to realize in your mind the 
idea of a living Saviour, and often dwell, with 
delight, upon the thought of his coming again. 
Look forward to this, as to a joyful certainty — the 
glorious consummation of all your hopes and joys. 
So, my beloved child, may you go through life, 
leaning on the arm of your Saviour and your God ; 
may he ever bless you. 

Your very affectionate mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1832. 



46 LETTERS. 

Away from my children, my family and cares, 
What now shall my moments employ ; 
How shall I prevent my too-wandering heart 
From reverting to scenes of past joy 1 

In the groves or the woods if I wander alone, 

Every tree tells a tale to my heart, 

Of years that are past, and of days that are gone, 

Of joys that for ever and ever are flown, 

And I wept as I saw them depart. 

Oh ye moments of young and of purest delight, 
Why will you remembrance swell % 
Or rather why, ever in colours so bright, 
With a touch so enchanting, a pencil so light, 
Did you paint joys I never should feel? 

Ah Fancy ! how fondly I lent you my ear, 

How fondly your dreams did I cherish ; 

And I thought that your day-dreams of bliss were so fair, 

And the castles you built, (although founded in air), 

Too enchanting, too gilded, too exquisite were, 

Thus early untimely to perish. 

But those visions of youth are all vanished in air, 
And those day-dreams of bliss are gone by ; 
Yet false and delusive, and vain as they were, 
Ideas so adored, so cherished, so dear, 
Will cost the remembrance many a tear, 
And the bosom full many a sigh. 

But hush, my wild wandering heart, it is time 

To bid Fancy's fond visions adieu ; 

Thy morning of life is fast passing away, 



LETTERS. 47 

And if disappointments have clouded thy day, 
'Tis well, so they teach thee no longer to stray 
Amid dreams which can never prove true. 

It is well, so from earth thy affections they wean, 
And teach thee to fix them in heaven ; 
So they show thee, how wild and romantic have been 
All the dreams of thy youth ! How embittered by sin, 
The enjoyments of time, and how mingled with pain 
Every pleasure the world could have given. 

3 Tis well, tho' at present dejected, depressed, 
So they point thee to mansions above, 
There, leaning for ever on Jesus's breast, 
Thy cares and thy wishes all hushed into rest, 
Thy sorrows forgotten, thy wanderings ceased, 
Thy rest, thou shalt find in his love. 



LETTER VI. 

Many thanks, my own dear child, for your affec- 
tionate and very welcome letter. I am pleased with 
all you tell me, and hope that you will feel all 
through life, the benefit you have received this one 
year. November, true, November is actually here, 
and brings with it its accustomed sadness to my 
heart and spirits. I think I could not live, but for 
the bright hope beyond the grave. Oh ! my child, 
may your days pass with fewer clouds than mine 
have done, if such be your Heavenly Father's will : 



48 LETTERS. 

and yet, I ought not to write so, for mercies have, 
surely, mingled largely in my cup, and I ought to 
feel nothing but thankfulness. My spirits, however, 
suffer much at times from depression ; the flowers 
in the drawing-room areVithered ; the piano silent. 
Oh ! for that better land, where flowers never fade, 
where tears are never shed. I seem to hear that 
dear dear voice for ever. I constantly start when 
the door opens, looking unconsciously for that 
sweet fairy form ; and Oh, how I long to feel the 
dear arms of my beloved Caroline once more clasped 
around my neck. But I will not grieve you by 
these sad thoughts ; yet, I could say, may you never 
pass through any thing so painful as the heavy, 
heavy trial of last winter ; but God knows what is 
best for us, and it is our duty to bear all these 
sorrows with a cheerful resignation, 

I am looking forward, my dearest Harriett, to 
find, in the comfort of your society, and in your 
sweet affection, a balm which will soothe, and make 
me forget more the bitter trial which I endured. 
But it would be strange indeed, after suffering 
what I have suffered, not to feel at times a tinge 
of sadness thrown over every day of my future life, 
I do not wish it otherwise, here is not my home — 

' But thee, my flower, whose breath was given 
By milder Genii o'er the deep,' — 

why should not your young heart rejoice ? Yes, 






LETTERS. 49 

my child, and long may the sunbeam, and very long 
may the summer breeze cause a feeling of gladness 
to thrill through your soul. Oh, I felt it once ; 
but, while still very young, many and many a bit- 
ter tear had taught me that earth's best joys were 
nothing worth; may you, dear Harriett, be so 
drawn by love to your heavenly Father, that you 
may never need the chastening I have had, to 
wean my heart from earth ; but the work must be 
accomplished ; you cannot enjoy the pleasures of 
the world, and yet possess a sure hope of the plea- 
sures which are at God's right hand for evermore ; 
we must make our choice. I rejoice at the ex- 
pressions in your last ; I am thankful in the hope 
that God is teaching you, by his Holy Spirit, to 
feel your need of a Saviour ; and oh ! the joy to take 
refuge in his dying love, — no one can have an idea 
of it, until taught by the Holy Spirit to see and 
feel the spirituality of the requirements of the law 
of God, and how infinitely far we fall short of the 
least of them all. Oh then we feel what it is to have 
a surety : one, who has paid the vast debt ; who, 
" his own self bare our sins, in his own body, on 
the tree," then " being justified by faith we have 
peace with God ; " peace, from a sense of sins for- 
given. My loved child, may this peace be yours, 
and you will feel how very far it exceeds every joy 
the world can give ; not that true religion will take 
from you one atom of those pure pleasures which 

D 



50 LETTERS. 

you describe, Oh no, but double them all ; the first 
violet of summer for you will have a more exqui- 
site sweetness, the bright sunbeam, and the soft 
evening breeze, will occasion a yet gladder glow of 
feeling, while, with an overflowing heart, you can 
look up to your Father who dwells in heaven, and 
receive every blessing, as from his own hand. The 
all that lies before you, I know not, but this I 
know, only make him your portion, your refuge, 
your God ; seek him as your Saviour, and all shall 
be well ; and we shall meet in those mansions where 
no tear shall ever more be shed. And now, my 
child, adieu, 

Ever your own dear mother, 

H. W. 

CUttle, November, 1832. 



The death of her daughter Caroline, a child of 
the fairest promise, but who was early called to 
bloom in a heavenly atmosphere, was still so vivid 
in her remembrance, that she wrote the following 
lines, three years after she had suffered the painful 
loss. 

Forget thee, forget thee, my sweet Caroline, 
No, never, oh never, for still thou art mine, 
I still seem to see thee, I hear thy soft breath, 
Oh ! I loved thee in life, and I love thee in death. 



LETTERS. 51 

Since the day that thou left me, my dearly loved child, 
Three winters have chill'd me, three summers have smiled ; 
But oh ! what are summers or winters to me, 
Be it summer or winter, I'm sighing for thee. 

Where art thou, where art thou, my Caroline dear ? 
Oh, speak to thy mother, oh, breathe in her ear ; 
I know where thy earthly remains are at rest, 
But tell me, Oh tell me thy spirit is blest. 

I see thee ! I see thee ! not as thou wert here, 
There is joy in thine eye, all undimmed by a tear, 
It is beauty celestial, which shines on thy brow, 
And glory eternal encircles thee now. 

I see thee ! I see thee ! I hear thy soft voice, 
Amidst sorrows and sufferings thou bidst me rejoice ; 
For the stream of earth's sorrow is flowing away, 
And soon shall be lost in the ocean of day. 

Oh yes ! and thy mother, my Caroline then, 
To her fond, aching bosom shall clasp thee again ; 
And oh ! from that moment we part again never, 
Death, which severed us once, shall unite us for ever. 



LETTERS TO MISS H . 

LETTER I. 

My dearly loved Friend, 
I am this evening returned from town, and the 
first thing that cheered me on my return, was the 

D 2 



52 LETTERS* 

sight of your hand-writing, and truly your letter 
was most welcome. I desire to bless God for your 
friendship, because you are such a true and real 
friend ; never have I known sorrow since I have 
loved you, but you have been the first to endeavour, 
in every way, to alleviate that sorrow. 

Yes, my dear Jane, the child of my fondest 
hopes has indeed sailed to join his dear father on 
his mission to the Indians of the British Colonies, 
in North America. A letter has reached me, ' 
which has made me feel full of thankfulness to 
God ; in finding that when he wrote they were 
passing the Isle of Thanet, that he enjoyed the 
sailing, and was longing to lose sight of land, 
promising himself much pleasure in viewing the 
wonders of the deep. I took him on board myself, 
and on leaving the ship, I told the captain that I 
could not but feel anxious about my boy, and 
expressed a hope, that he would take every care 
of him, until he gave him into his father's hands, in 
New-Brunswick; his reply pleased me — " I am a 
father myself, and can enter into all your feelings ; 
be assured, that all that I can do for him shall be 
done ; occurrences will sometimes take place, 
which man cannot prevent, but we have no reason 
to fear, but that all shall be well." I feel satisfied 
and thankful, and am so glad that you, my beloved 
friend, are in some measure reconciled to this step. 
You judge rightly, it has indeed been a matter of 



LETTERS. 53 

earnest prayer, and I did not decide without the 
advice of our ever kind, and much valued friend, 
Mr. Budd ; he fully approves of it. We think it 
will he of great service to the character of dear 
John, and make him altogether more likely to he 
a useful man, that is what I wish ; I wish not for 
him to distinguish himself merely at college, but 
to prepare himself for active service in the vine- 
yard of the Lord, any part of it, and whatever will 
most tend to draw out the powers of his mind, to 
teach him to act and to think for himself, will do 
him more good than three months of Latin and 
Greek, the time he is expected to be absent. 

I wish I might hope to have you a little while 
at my cottage, where it is decided I shall remain 
till dear John and his father return from America. 
I would nurse you, and watch you in your illness, 
it would be such a pleasure to me, — your accounts 
of the last few days seem very encouraging ; may it 
please God to restore you very speedily. Sickness, 
I always think is a very favourable time for growth 
in grace, or rather, the recovery from sickness ; in 
the quiet repose of our own chamber, the heart 
can best ascend to God ; and it is in these seasons 
also, that we most forcibly feel the utter nothing- 
ness of all created good. Oh ! I think I daily feel 
more and more, how utterly impossible it is, that 
any thing short of God himself can satisfy the 
desires of a soul hungering and thirsting after righ- 



54 LETTERS. 

teousness ; and this too, I have been enabled to 
feel, that with a mind resting upon God, sorrows 
hardly make us sorrowful, because there is joy in 
him, which no earthly circumstances can deprive us 
of — a joy unspeakable and full of glory. I look 
around me and see all things changing ; many of 
those whom I tenderly loved, gone to unseen 
worlds ; life itself, rapidly passing away ; and then 
I feel the vastness of a believer's privilege, as it is 
sweetly represented, "going up from the wilder- 
ness leaning on her beloved" May the richest, 
choicest blessings of a covenant God, be yours in 
Christ Jesus, and believe me, 

Your much attached friend, 

H. W. 

Epsom, 1826. 



LETTER II. 

My dear and loved Friend, 
You have been so much in my thoughts all to- 
day, that I must try to write to you to-night ; 
every one is gone to rest, my little room is now 
quiet, and I sit down without fear of interruption ; 
my thoughts are dwelling upon you, and upon that 
dear friend who has so lately taken her flight to a 
better world : her death has very sensibly touched 
me, it seems to bring heaven nearer to me, it seems 



LETTERS. 55 

to say, what is life ? how short — how uncertain— 
Oh ! why should so large a portion of it be taken up 
with cares and anxieties, about what ? It seems to 
say to me again and again — " Be ye also ready, let 
your loins be girt, and your lamp burning." Now 
the dear departed saint knows what heaven is, now 
she knows what is meant by fulness of joy, which 
we cannot conceive of. In idea I have followed 
her ; I have wondered how her freed spirit would 
bear the first burst of glory, I have dwelt upon the 
thought till all the world has sunk into nothing, 
and I have longed to be there too. 

I quite agree with you, that there is something 
very peculiar, and very delightful in the feeling 
which always accompanies the spring of the year ; 
to me it is indescribably pleasing, it reminds me of 
the resurrection morning, and forcibly draws my 
thoughts to the glory which shall then be revealed. 
I quite rejoice with you at the loving-kindness of 
God, in choosing you out so sweet a spot as your 
present residence, where you can unite so much 
usefulness, with so much pure pleasure. Oh ! 
how it sweetens every pleasure, to feel that our 
Heavenly Father has bestowed it upon us, and 
that it is only an earnest of what his love has pre- 
pared for us in a brighter, better world than this ; 
Yes, my much-loved friend, it were indeed some- 
thing, to rest from our sorrows, but I cannot think, 
that rest alone awaits our souls at death ; I know 



56 LETTERS. 

the idea is entertained by some ; I found it in 
Gerard Noel's Sermons, but I do not think it is 
Scriptural ; St. Paul surely never had the idea— 
the dying thief had no such idea — nor do I think, 
our Saviour's words, " to-day, $*c." imply any such 
idea ; I know it may be said, one day with the 
Lord is as a thousand years, but I like to take the 
simplest, and most obvious meaning of the words 
of Scripture. With you, I often long for the 
time when we shall know all. I often think it will 
be altogether different from what the most en- 
lightened among the sons of men have contem- 
plated. 

With regard to the other point you mention, a 
great change surely takes place in the heart: 
our views, our affections, our desires, our feel- 
ings, are all changed ; but the change is not 
perfected, till nature's last expiring sigh breathes 
out the soul to God ; I think we cannot aim too 
high. What does this mean ? " Let us go on to 
perfection." Oh that the world had less hold of 
my thoughts and affections. Oh that I could find 
sin more entirely subdued within me. Oh that my 
whole soul rested more and more, day by day upon 
the Redeemer's faithfulness and truth, and desired 
no other joy ; this indeed is the wish of my heart, 
but alas, day by day I have to complain of miser- 
able nothingness, and short-comings, and mis- 
doings, till wearied with looking at self, I can but 



LETTERS. 57 

again and again throw myself at the foot of the 
Cross, and there, my trembling spirit finds sweet 
repose. 

Hide me in thine own perfections, 
Oh thou merciful High Priest ; 
Let one ray of thine own brightness 
Round my trembling spirit rest 

And now dearest Jane, adieu ; may God bless 
you wherever you are, — may He cause the light 
of his countenance to shine upon you, and give 
you much joy and peace, even until he shall bring 
you to " His presence, where there is fulness of 
joy, and to his right hand, where are pleasures 
for evermore." 

Ever your attached friend, 
H. W. 

Chettie, 1828. 

LETTER III. 

My dearly loved Friend, 
The kind affectionate solicitude expressed in 
your last, deeply affected me : it affected me 
unto tears. How shall I sufficiently thank you, 
dearest Jane, for all your Christian sympathy and 
kindness to me. I have rather delayed answering 
your letter, because I have so much I long to be 
able to say, and have not since felt well enough, 
nor do I now. 

D 5 



58 LETTERS. 

Whether or no I shall go on to Torquay for the 
winter, my husband will decide. "We fully ex- 
pect that he will reach England about the begin- 
ning of November, on his return from his mission 
to the provinces of British North America, on be- 
half of the Bible Society. When he wrote last 
he was quite well, hastening homewards, praising 
and blessing God for the work entrusted to him, 
prospering beyond his most sanguine expectations; 
and in spite of anxious feeling, trusting that he 
shall find me quite recovered. God be praised 
for every mercy ! yet, dearest Jane, I assure you, 
I feel that there is no certainty of recovery. I 
feel, however, that I am in the hands of a tender 
Father, and can truly say, that to commit myself 
altogether into his hand, as it is my highest privi- 
lege, so it is my ^daily, my hourly support, and, 
" Father, not as I will but as thou wilt," is my 
daily prayer. 

The first thing I said to myself when I read 
your letter, was, " Cease ye from man, for where- 
in is he to be accounted of." Oh it is a lesson 
very very hard to learn, but those who have learned 
it, thoroughly learned it, however painful has 
been the lesson, are the happiest people, far the 
happiest. Never, I believe, till we have been dis- 
appointed and " cut to the quick," in every 
earthly dependency, shall we learn to rise above 
the world, with all its joys and sorrows, and find 



LETTERS. 59 

that peace, that sweet entire repose, which His 
love alone can give, who is the same " yesterday, 
to-day, and for ever." 

I quite agree with you in your remarks about 
Mr. , I seem to fear that his change of cir- 
cumstances will lead him more into the world ; 
and the world, I have long thought, is the great 
thing which keeps Christians so far, so very far, 
from God. The world — (in a thousand shapes al- 
most unsuspected by oneself,) — is a sad snare, and 
riches and pomp and splendour, easily steal away 
the heart from the love of Christ. Did you ever 
consider that passage much—" For the Prince of 
this world cometh, and hath nothing in me." 

I often love to dwell upon the idea of your dear 
sister (gentle and timid as she was,) meeting 
death with that sweet composure and calm resig- 
nation, which you have mentioned. Now her 
latest tear is shed, her last sigh heard, and she 
sleeps in Jesus. Her pure spirit, now unclothed 
of its clay tenement, is rejoicing with joy unspeak- 
able. Oh ! if she remembers now the scene she 
has left, and if she can now behold her sorrowing 
children, can you not see the look of tender love 
with which she would bid them dry their tears 
and prepare to follow her to that world of glory. 
Dear Jane, there is the same Saviour for me, and 
I trust he has prayed even for me, that my faith 
fail not. Oh it is a consolation to have such a 



60 LETTERS. 

Saviour to look to : my sin-burdened weary soul is 
at rest in him. He is to me " the shadow of a great 
rock in a weary land," my strength, my refuge, 
my hiding-place, my sanctification, my redemp- 
tion, my righteousness, my all in all, — wearied, 
dismayed, and trembling, I turn to him, and find 
all I need, — all for life or death ; what more need 
I wish for ? Oh Jane ; it will not be long, ere one 
by one we shall be gathered into the fold above. 
We may dry our tears, and had better be pre- 
paring to follow, for the boat has landed our dearly 
loved ones, and is returning perhaps for us. They 
are safe in the haven where they would be ; but we 
may have to toil a little while longer on the rough 
ocean of life, yet the haven begins to look much 
nearer ; a few more billows perhaps, and we 
too shall be there. Let us then gather up our 
loose garments, take courage, and wait in joyful 
hope for the end. Oh! is it possible, that we are 
really heirs of glory that fadeth not away ; chil- 
dren of the most high God, pressing onwards to 
our Father's house ? Do joys unspeakable await 
us, and that for ever, — are mansions purchased, 
prepared, and made sure for us by a dying 
Saviour's love — is it really true? then what are 
the sorrows of a few short years ? Oh ! why do 
they at times, so unduly press upon our spirits ? 
My God and Saviour, only keep me close to thee — 
all, all is well, all is peaceful, all is bright. 






LETTERS. 61 

And now, my dear, dear friend, God bless you ; 
will you soon again let me hear from you ? 
Truly affectionately yours, 

H. W. 

Lyme Regis, 1828. 



LETTER IV. 

My beloved Friend, 
I think I have not been so long as usual in 
writing this time, and may therefore wave all 
apologies about long silence, and begin at once, 
by thanking you for your last kind and welcome 
letter. It grieved me, however to find that you 
had been suffering, my dear Jane, from illness ; so 
do write again soon, as I feel anxious about you. 
I have thought much of you lately, and some pas- 
sages in your last have brought you more tenderly 
into my heart. But, oh! my Jane, how sweet 
the thought that nothing that can, or ever shall 
befal us in this dark world is unknown to our 
heavenly Father. It does not take two days for 
a letter to reach Him to tell him his child is sick, 
or in distress, and wants his supporting presence. 
Oh no ! his arm is ever around us, and no sooner 
does distress come, than we feel the tender sup- 
port. Oh, what a privilege ! if we did but always 
realize it, how cheerfully might we go on our way, 



62 LETTERS. 

free from all anxiety, and knowing that the bounds 
of our habitation are fixed for us, and fixed by 
infinite wisdom, and infinite love — but, alas ! I 
have often reason to complain with you — how 
weak is my faith ; else why is my soul cast down 
at any time ? why do anxious thoughts arise, not 
for myself, but for my dear children ? My daily 
prayer is, Lord, enable me to trust all — all to thee. 
Another sharp trial of faith, it has pleased him 
lately to appoint me — but blessed be his name for 
ever, he heard our prayers, and has again brought 
our dear, dear John through a severe attack of 
illness. His father has been nursing him through 
it in town, while I could only cast myself down in, 
silence at a throne of grace, and ' be still. 9 — To use 
his father's expression, * it was a very near 'point ' 
— but he is now returned to Cambridge, though 
languid and weak, as anxious not to lose his term. 
His cough, however, is gone, and I humbly trust, 
it may please his God and Father to restore him 
to his former health. He has many kind friends at 
Cambridge, much attached to him, some of whom 
are always ready to sit with him in his rooms and 
amuse him. You will see, therefore, what cause I 
have to be thankful. Another mercy yesterday 
filled my heart with gratitude, dear Harriett was 
riding out with her father on the downs, when her 
pony took fright, got his foot entangled in her 
riding habit, and kicked frightfully till he threw 



LETTERS. 63 

her, but providentially she escaped without any 
serious injury. God be praised for his abundant 
mercies. Oh that every mercy, every trial, every 
pain I suffer, may but be the means of cleansing 
and purifying mine inmost soul, and I am satisfied. 
Oh yes, dear Jane, ' to be beaten off from self, to 
come simply and entirely to Christ for salvation, 
and yet to be daily and hourly pressing forwards 
after greater degrees of holiness, to strive and pray, 
and earnestly long to feel God's image again 
stamped upon our inmost soul, this is indeed dif- 
ficult, but it is the Christian's path to glory — the 
change must be going on here from grace to grace, 
and even in heaven I apprehend, it will still be 
going on, pressing on to perfection, till God shall 
be all in all — every Christian, I suppose does not 
agree with this, yet I feel persuaded that it is true. 
I daily and hourly feel, that to the latest hour of 
my existence, Jesus Christ and he only must be 
the sole refuge of my sin-polluted soul, and whether 
he shall come in the second watch, or whether he 
shall come in the third watch, is of very little con- 
sequence in one point of view : and grieved indeed 
am I to see (for I had seen it all, dear Jane, before 
your last arrived) the unchristian spirit with which 
many (I trust Christian people) write and speak on 
this subject. I would say to them, " Ye know not 
what manner of spirit ye are of." You recollect 
that the foolish virgins as well as the wise, heard 



64 LETTERS. 

the cry, and went forth to meet the bridegroom, 
but were lost, not for want of attending to the cry, 
but because they had no oil in their lamps. The 
Christian who is living near to God, in communion 
with him, who feels day by day that the Saviour's 
dying love is the one subject on which his soul de- 
lights to dwell, that that love is his only support — 
that bosom his only resting-place, such a soul, 
whenever his Lord shall come, will exclaim with 
holy rapture, " This is he whom my soul loveth." 
" Lo, this is our God ; I have waited for him, and 
he will save us : this is the Lord ; we have waited 
for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salva- 
tion." I could say much more on this subject, but 
am straightened both for room and time. Do you 
think with me or no ? It seems to me a day in 
which Christians should tread cautiously, for errors 
abound and novelty is the order of the day. How 
strange that Erskine with his powerful and ener- 
getic mind should have joined the ' Rowites.' You 
express a wish to send Charles, as his godmother, 
a book : he begs me to tell you he should like a 
History of England better than any thing. He is 
very fond of history, and as I have kept story 
books as much as possible from them, they all find 
it their highest source of amusement to read His- 
tory, Biography, &c, and they are continually 
reading, Caroline is remarkably interesting ; she 
told me one day she had been very much pleased 



LETTERS. 65 

with Mrs Sherwood's book on the Church Cate- 
chism, but she had found something there she 
could not believe, because, were it true, she was 
sure I should have told her, so she should read no 
more of that book — it was, that there were three 
persons in one God, a subject I had never particu- 
larly brought before her on account of her tender 
years. After some conversation she was satisfied, 
but she lets nothing escape her. 

Well, my dear dear friend, may God bless you, 
and all who are dear to you, and give you to expe- 
rience more and more largely that peaceful joy, 
arising from a sense of sin forgiven, that full assu- 
rance of faith which enables the soul to rest in His 
love, and that full assurance of hope which can 
alone enable us to look forward with joyful antici- 
pation to that blissful glorious home when Christ 
shall indeed come the second time without sin 
unto salvation. " Even so, come Lord Jesus." 
Once more, God bless you. 

Ever your most affectionately attached friend, 

H.W. 

Chettle, 1830. 



LETTER V. 

My dearest Friend. 
Many, many thanks my dearly-loved friend for 
your affectionate letter, — the very wish on your 



66 LETTERS. 

part to comfort me in my present affliction, is 
soothing to my still aching heart ; the very thought 
that you are feeling, and I trust praying for me, 
does me good ; but dear Jane, can you understand 
the feeling, no friend however dear, no voice how- 
ever loved, can comfort me. Yes, " there is indeed 
a secret in the ways of God with his own chil- 
dren, which none others know." Oh! the hand 
which has so deeply wounded, alone can heal; 
that love, which has seen it needful in very faith- 
fulness to afflict so sorely, alone can comfort. The 
language of my heart would be, " I will go down 
to the grave to my child mourning ;" comfort I 
would not wish for, so much as that this bereave- 
ment may indeed be sanctified to me : entreat 
this for me, dear friend, and nothing else. 1 feel 
that I have too long, much too long been looking 
for comfort and enjoyment here ; when driven 
from one idol I have turned to another, still long- 
ing for something earthly to take pleasure in. I 
think, surely it is all over now, but I only know 
that my " heart is deceitful above all things, and 
desperately wicked." This has struck me much 
in meditating on all that is past, that dear John 
has been spared to me ; but is not this remarkable ? 
No one but a mother who has loved a child as I 
have loved him, can imagine the tender solicitude 
with which I watched over his infant years ; the 
delight with which I marked the unfolding ener- 



LETTERS. 67 

gies of his mind ; the tender anxiety with which I 
daily sought to turn his young heart to God, to 
place things before him in their true light, to shew 
him, that although he must use those talents which 
God had given him, in order to obtain a livelihood, 
as a poor man goes to his daily labour, yet that 
all knowledge, all science was nothing without the 
knowledge of God. Then as years advanced, and 
he left a mother's care, with what anxious love I 
followed him to school, and afterwards to Cam- 
bridge ; how tremblingly I watched his progress, 
and how thankfully marked, from time to time, 
religion taking deeper root in his heart, the fear 
and love of God seeming to regulate all his con- 
duct. Then, as the day drew on for which he had 
been so long preparing, the day to which I was 
looking forward, with an intenseness of interest far 
greater than his own, that, that very morning when 
the expected letter arrived, which only a few days 
before, I had said I should hardly be able to open 
for joy, I was bending with an anguished heart 
over my dear dying child. I had forgotten the 
letter in my distress, and when Charles brought it 
to the bed-side, felt no desire to open it. Oh, what 
were earthly honours then ? and now what canl say? 
" Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy 
sight." I mark the hand of God in all this, and 
am silent ; but my tears must flow, nor is it good 
for me that they should stop ; I would not grieve 



68 LETTERS. 

that my little span of time should be so embit- 
tered, it would not be if it were not most needful ; 
we should not wish for two heavens, if we are but 
sure of that which is to come. Oh, Jane, it is a 
great work, that must be wrought in us, for the 
soul to be sanctified and made " meet for an inhe- ^ 
ritance among the saints in light." " These are 
they which came out of much tribulation." 

You may be sure it has not been a measure 
lightly taken by us, dear Harriett's going to Not- 
ting Hill. As to her leaving me just now, I felt 
that time to her was precious. I know the value 
of the instruction that she would receive, and that 
her health required some change. Her spirits 
have suffered severely, for she loved our dear 
Caroline with almost a mother's love. She writes 
me nice accounts, and seems very happy. Little 
Catherine is now my constant companion, and 
more, she is a dear child, but I must love her as 
though I loved her not. And now, dear Jane, 
may God bless you with his own rich blessings. 
Your truly attached Friend, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1832. 

LETTER VI. 

Dear, very dear Friend, 
Weeks have been passing, I think, more rapidly 
of late, than I ever remember them to have done : 



LETTERS. 69 

another winter has passed away, and another sum- 
mer is opening upon us. Dear Jane, truly life is 
short ; every thing looks to me more a reality. 
Do you know what I mean ? I want to know 
whether your feelings are like my own, at the 
prospect before us. I seem now continually to be 
able to realize more, the awful, and yet the joyful 
glorious futurity. I have many wearied hours, at 
times, from my present state of health ; but oh ! 
the delight of acquiescing in the will of our hea- 
venly Father, not having one wish, but what seems 
best to him, not even desiring the removal of sor- 
row which his love sees good to appoint for us. 
Oh, this single feeling is happiness, beyond all 
that the world can give. I often think, could we 
but realize more the promises of God ; could we 
but keep for ever in view that eternal world of 
joy which is so soon to burst upon our sight, and 
believe that there is reserved, even for us, " an 
inheritance, incorruptible and that fadeth not 
away," — Oh, we should not grudge the sufferings 
of the way ; we should not shrink from one trial, 
from one sorrow which sovereign love may see 
needful, in order to prepare us for that inherit- 
ance. God has given to me, even to me, a good 
hope of everlasting life through Jesus Christ. And 
that one thought, that when this sad world, with 
all its sins and sorrows, shall have passed away, we 
shall be safe with him for evermore, is happiness. 



70 LETTERS. 

An eternity of blessedness, dear Jane, we cannot 
doubt. His faithfulness and truth are pledged in 
our behalf ; we may ever plead the fulfilment of his 
own promise; his very justice is on our side. 
These two glorious and astounding facts I more 
and more delight in : " Jesus Christ died for our 
sins, and rose again for our justification.'" iS If I 
may but touch his garment, I shall be whole." Oh 
yes, as you say, here is our confidence ; it is his 
work from first to last, and he will carry it on until 
he gives us a crown of glory. Oh, how good is it, 
daily to cast the soul upon his faithfulness and 
truth, for pardon, for life, for life spiritual and 
eternal. It is indeed love past our comprehen- 
sion. Does not the very name " Jesus Christ" seem 
to bring a sweet calm over every feeling of the 
soul ? How sweet to take refuge from sin and 
sorrow in His divine name, to turn away from the 
turmoil of life, and find there a rest, a quiet, a 
peace which passeth all understanding. I rejoice 
more than ever in contemplating him in the un- 
changeableness of his character ; and well, dear 
Jane, is it for us that it is so : " that his ways are 
not as our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts," 
else, how could we rest upon him ? Oh, there is 
peace to the soul in the thought that He is immu- 
table in his promises, unchangeable in his affec- 
tions. All beside is as nothing ; the best, purest 
earthly joys are spoiled by sin, the flower fades 



LETTERS. 71 

while we gaze upon its beauties ; the more fondly 
we have loved an}' created good, the more bitterly 
we weep its loss, the more anguished the confes- 
sion ; this too was vanity. Oh my friend, it is not 
until we have wept, and groaned, and agonized 
over earth's best joys laid in the grave; not until 
we have been enabled, though with hearts almost 
broken, and hopes all shattered, to turn unto God, 
and find there our calmness ; to rise from earth, 
to gather up our affections from the cold tomb, 
and wrap ourselves round as it were, in the ever- 
lasting love of God ; it is not till such a winter has 
passed over our soul, and such a spring returned, 
that we know the full meaning of that expression, 
<f Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and 
for ever." 

I like your remarks very much, on the manner 
of treating religious subjects by some in the pre- 
sent day. " Jesus Christ as the brightness of his 
Father's glory, and the express image of his per- 
son ; " as " our wisdom, righteousness, sanctifica- 
tion, and redemption," is all in all to the believer ; 
and I like not that way of separating too much, 
(so as to make a system), those parts which make 
up the beautiful whole of man's redemption. I 
have been reading a book, ' The Remains of 
Alexander Knox/ which has much interested me. 
Not that I like the whole of his sentiments ; there 
is a tendency in them to dangerous error. I 



72 LETTERS. 

would not put them into the hands of the young 
and inexperienced ; yet is there much truth on the 
subject of the nature of the salvation which Jesus 
Christ died to purchase for us. It well expresses 
the union and the oneness with Christ as our living 
head. " If we dwell in Christ, we must have 
some conscious evidence of our high and holy 
resting-place, and our minds and hearts must 
rationally and satisfactorily feel that they are no 
longer captives to the world, the flesh, and the 
Devil ; if we dwell in Christ, we no longer live in. 
sin, we no longer cleave to the world, we are no 
longer the victims of earthly vicissitudes ; " and he 
goes on to describe the peace of mind which the 
true Christian has " who dwells in Christ, and 
Christ in him." 

To dwell in Christ, what a security ! and how 
rich through Christ dwelling in us, — may we ever, 
dear Jane, think of this vast privilege, and ever 
believe me, 

Very faithfully and affectionately yours, 

H. W. 

Ckettle, 1835. 



LETTERS. 73 



WLxittm as a memorial oi fnmttlfitp, cm parting 
hiiti) ijer Uittiii, to re^ttfe m a octant pavt of tije 
countro. 

There is a feeling of regret 
Within my bosom springing, 
Which tells me one more pleasure yet, 
The sun of one more joy is set 
Which round my heart is clinging. 

Oh ! if there be in human life 
A sweet'ner of its sadness, 
'Tis that which in severest grief 
Can yield the suffering mind relief, 
And soothe the soul to gladness. 

And friendship's voice thus breathes relief, 

Which nothing else can borrow, 

It cheers the gloomiest hours of life, 

It sheds a sweetness over grief 

A calmness over sorrow. 

And if it has been mine to drain 
The bitterest cup of sadness ; 
It has been yours, my dearest Jane, 
Amidst severest hours of pain, 
To soothe my soul to gladness. 

Thoughts which I wish not to control 
Will turn to thee for ever, 
Tho' oceans should between us roll, 
Thy loved remembrance from my soul 
Nor time, nor change can sever. 
E 



74 LETTERS. 

Farewell my dear, my much-loved friend, 
And may the Lord of glory 
Himself thy every footstep tend, 
Be with thee to thy journey's end, 
And with peculiar sweetness blend 
The all, that lies before thee. 

And should we meet no more, yet Oh! 

To us may it be given, 

By sweet experience to know 

That friendships but begun below, 

Are perfected in heaven. 



lUtten* to fflite $• 



LETTER I. 

My dear Horatia, 
It seems then that we are not to meet this year ; 
I cherished the hope for a long time, that the 
summer would not really pass away without our 
having the pleasure of seeing our dear friends ; 
but it is gone, and with it all its hopes, and fears, 
and pleasures, and pains, and disappointments. 
Already the long winter evenings are set in, and 
we are beginning to talk about next summer. Such 
is life, and so quickly do the different portions of 
our time slip away ; and very soon nothing will 
seem to us to have been worth an anxious thought, 
except the spending of our time, so as to make it 



LETTERS. 75 

tell throughout eternity. Oh ! that I could live 
with this impression more continually on my mind. 
The greatest difficulty in religion, to me, is to 
realize things ; the world has such a wrong 
way of looking at, and of estimating things ; 
and we so insensibly look through the world's 
glass, and estimate things as the world around us 
estimate them, instead of just simply thinking 
how such and such things appear in the sight of 
God, and how they will look to us when eternity 
shall have torn aside the thick veil. "We too, 
often attach importance to things so trifling, and 
are even weighed down in our spirits by things, 
which we shall then see were not worth a thought. 
Oh ! that every thought, every wish and desire 
were absorbed and lost in the one great concern, 
a growing meetness for that world of glory, which 
is so soon to burst upon our view. 

Your dear brother's health, Oh may it be re- 
stored ; and may many a year of happiness yet be 
his, even upon earth. But, dearest Horatia, is it not 
true, that earth cannot make us happy ? — do you 
remember those words in Augustine's Confessions, 
" Thou hast made us for thyself, and our heart is 
restless till it resteth in Thee.'''' Our Heavenly 
Father never intended that we should rest in the 
creature, that we should be satisfied with any 
earthly good ; — He made us for himself, for his 
own glory, and it is not until our affections centre 
e 2 



i 



76 LETTERS. 

in Him as our home, our resting-place, that we 
know what happiness means. Yet, how astonish- 
ing it is, that even wh en we have at length learned 
this lesson, we are so prone still to leave him, 
whom having not seen, we love, and in whose un- 
changeable affection is our safety, and best happi- 
ness. Does it not often make you long, dearest 
Horatia, for the time when we shall be free from 
all imperfection and sin ; when we shall love our 
Saviour with a perfect love, and serve him with 
undivided affection ? I think I rejoice most of all 
at what you tell me of the state of your dear bro- 
ther's mind, that he is at length enabled to bow 
to, and acquiesce with humble submission in, the 
will of God : Oh ! it is this quiet submission 
which alone can bring peace to a wounded mind. — 
God has chastened, — the great Husbandman has 
pruned, and now he looks for fresher, richer 
fruit. Do tell your dear brother, with our most 
affectionate regards, how truly we sympathise with 
him in all his sufferings, and how earnestly we pray 
for him ; and tell him to remember, that " these 
light afflictions are but for a moment, but shall 
work out for him a far more exceeding and eternal 
weight of glory." 

Ever your attached friend, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1834. 



LETTERS. 



LETTER II. 



My dearest Horatia, 
Your welcome letter relieved my mind from 
much anxiety ; God be praised ! that you arrived 
safely at Hastings, and that your dear brother, in 
his precarious state of health, bore the journey 
so well. I need not tell you how much my 
thoughts have been with you since you left us, nor 
how your short visit has doubled the interest I feel 
in you both, and deepened every feeling of sym- 
pathy towards your brother. Oh, if I thought 
that our sympathy had soothed his sorrowing heart 
for one short moment, how thankful I should be. 
God only can restore tranquillity to a mind 
wounded like his ; yet human sympathy is sweet ; 
it is soothing to the soul to know that there are 
hearts that love you, and are weeping with you. 
I have experienced this, and though the sorrow of 
your loved brother is of that peculiar kind that it 
is almost impossible to approach it with the voice 
of consolation, yet it may be soothed. Oh, I 
know well, there can be no wound so severe as 
that which he has endured :— affections, which 
have been so fondly twining round one loved 
object for years, all suddenly torn away, and cast, 
as it were, on the cold world, to wither and to die ; 
thoughts, wishes and feelings, which have long 



78 LETTERS. 

centered in one home, all broken through ; every 
idea of earthly happiness gone for ever. Oh, it is 
indeed a hard, hard lesson to a heart like his, 
beating high with honour and disinterested affec- 
tion, — what wound can be so severe ? God alone 
can enable him to look through second causes, and 
only to bow and say " my God, thy will be done." 
Time may, and will wear away the bitterness of 
feeling which now so deeply affects him ; but oh ! 
that is nothing, nothing to the sweet peace which 
I trust awaits his soul. Dear Horatia, tell him 
to strive to forget that it has been a human hand 
that has so deeply wounded him : — Oh, tell him to 
remember, that though the instrument may be 
human, the hand that uses it is Divine : — to re- 
member, that " our friends are to us all that, and 
only that which God makes them to be ; " and I do 
trust that the time is not far distant, when he will 
be enabled to see that this chastening, heavy as it 
is, has been a fatherly correction in love. The 
more I consider God's dealings with his children, 
the more I see that he will wean from earth those 
hearts in which he delights to dwell. When he 
deprives us of that on which we are leaning too 
fondly, it is that we may lean on himself. When 
he takes from us our idols, it is that He may reign 
in our hearts supremely. Oh, then it is that we 
find all earthly joys are nothing. It is a sweet 
assurance, " whom the Lord loveth he chasten- 



LETTERS. 79 

eth." I think I have learned to welcome sorrow, 
for it is then I feel that God is drawing me nearer 
to himself; it is 

" Sweet to lie passive in his hands, 
And know no will but his. 1 ' 

Oh, it is an experience cheaply gained, at the loss 
of every joy the world can give; but it is not to 
be obtained without much suffering ; it is not until 
we have found that there is no home for the spirit 
upon earthy that we seek our home in God ; it is 
not until we have been made to feel that earth's 
best happiness, is but vanity, that we turn to God 
with our whole heart, and find a better happiness 
there. Your loved brother, dear Horatia, is in- 
deed young to learn such a lesson as this, but 
happy those who learn it soonest. Do, Horatia, 
say to him from me, with my affectionate regard, — 
" Oh, strive to surrender your whole will to the 
will of God, I do not say exert yourself to get 
the better of this heavy sorrow; I do not say 
weep not ; rather I would say, rest your weary, 
aching head on the bosom of your Saviour, and 
weep there ; soon will his own hand wipe away 
those tears of bitterness, — soon will his own love 
shine in upon your soul, and fill you with a joy so 
sacred, so pure ; Oh ! you would not part with it for 
the tenderest earthly feelings you have ever known ; 
God is only preparing you, dearest friend, for that 
fulness of joy which he hath prepared for you 



80 LETTERS. 

from all eternity. Oh ! let that one thought make 
you more than satisfied. He loves you ; He 
marks every tear you shed: He sympathizes with 
you in all your afflictions, and will support you in 
the day of trouble. Oh ! may he fill up that sad 
void in your heart, with his own everlasting love. 
May every tear you shed now, be as a gem in that 
crown of glory, which shall encircle your brow for 
ever. God bless you for ever." Adieu, dearest 
Horatia. 

Ever your attached friend, 

H. W. 

CUttle. 1835. 



€!)* follofomg Hotter foa«s fortttm to Pfr. $. a Sfjort 
ptvioti fctfore l)i& tfeatf). 

LETTER III. 

My dear Friend, 
A letter received from dear Horatia yesterday, 
gives such a sad account of your increased weak- 
ness and indisposition, that I cannot forbear writ- 
ing to you this morning. I must do so, to assure 
you of our tenderest sympathy in all your suffer- 
ings. Mr. W. desires me to convey to you his 
best wishes, and to tell you how truly he is feeling 
for you ; — he wishes you to read the 20th Psalm,, 



LETTERS. 81 

as comprising all that he could wish for you. I do 
most fervently hope that we may soon hear from 
your dear sister, a better account ; and that it may 
yet please a gracious God to restore you, once 
more, to the friends who so greatly esteem you. 
Oh ! he only knows what is best for his children ; 
and while we say with our blessed Saviour, '.' Fa- 
ther, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me," 
— we must endeavour to add also with him, — 
"nevertheless if it may not pass from me except I 
drink it, thy will be done" 

I cannot tell you how much my heart has been 
filled with sorrow ever since I read Horatia's 
letter. I had heard of your taking your degree 
at Cambridge with so much pleasure, and although 
her last account was not very good, yet I thought 
the indisposition arising from the excitement, and 
the journey, and the Cambridge air, altogether 
was so natural, and would surely soon give way 
to the quiet of home, and home nursing, that 
when Horatia's letter came I opened it eagerly, 
saying, it is to tell us they will come and see us. 
Well, dearest friend, I know in whose hands you 
are, and I durst not repine ; " all His ways are 
mercy and truth, to them that fear Him." I only 
pray that he may so shine in upon your soul with 
beams of love and mercy, so enable you to feel 
that the most high God is your refuge, and that 
underneath you are the everlasting arms, that all 
e 5 



82 LETTERS. 

earthly things may seem as nothing to you, and 
sink into insignificance, compared with the joy 
which is set before you. Wearisome days, and 
sleepless nights may be appointed you for a season ; 
but oh ! may God himself so cheer you with 
his love, be so present with you by his Holy 
Spirit, that you may be enabled to rejoice in the 
midst of suffering and pain. I remember once, 
when in circumstances something similar to yours, 
too weak to think, or almost to pray, it was as a 
constant cordial to my soul, to take refuge in the 
faithfulness of God ; not one promise that stands 
on record in His holy word can ever fail ; God 
must be true to his own promise ; He cannot let 
one soul perish, whose only refuge is in Christ 
Jesus : sooner should heaven and earth pass away. 
My dear friend, I write thus because I know what 
weakness of body is, and that it very often so 
affects the mind and spirit that we seem almost 
ready to faint. Is it not thus with you ? Then 
throw yourself upon the faithfulness of God in 
Christ. Plead his own promise : — His very jus- 
tice is pledged on your behalf. "He is faithful 
and just to forgive us our sins." Oh! you are as 
safe as the promise of God can make you. I 
sometimes wonder whether Abraham knew the full 
meaning of those words of his ; " My son, God 
will provide himself a Lamb for a burnt offering." 
Yes, blessed be his name, and He has, — Jesus Christ 



LETTERS. 83 

has died,— -man is redeemed,—" All we like sheep 
have gone astray, we have turned every man to his 
own way, and the Lord has laid on Him the ini- 
quity of us all." We stand on the same platform — 
the rope is about our necks — but a reprieve is 
heard, " loose him and let him go, I have found 
a ransom." Oh ! who can tell the peace that flows 
into the soul from one believing glance of Jesus on 
the cross, the peace of sin forgiven : oh ! from 
that blessed moment, Jesus Christ becomes the 
dear resting place, in which our wearied souls take 
refuge from the sorrows and storms of life. And 
we learn to say, blessed was the sorrow, and wel- 
come the storm which drove us to seek shelter in 
such an ark, — to take refuge in such an hiding- 
place. You, my dear friend, though in early life, 
you have known some of the keenest sorrows, oh ! 
can you not now feel that it has been all in tender 
mercy ? Oh ! look intently forward, — is not the 
thought of the eternal weight of glory, — the ever- 
lasting joy which awaits you, is it not enough ? 

" How wilt thou then look back and smile 
At thoughts that bitterest seemed ere while, 
And bless the pangs that made thee see 
This was no world of rest to thee." 

I fear I shall have wearied you, yet I have not 
said one half of what I intended — or feel. I long 
to comfort you, but God is with you, and surely, 



84 LETTERS. 

he will never, never leave you, nor forsake you. 
1 Fear thou not, for I am with thee ; be not dis- 
mayed, for I am thy God ; when thou passest 
through the waters, I will be with thee, and the 
floods, they shall not overflow thee — I, even I am 
he, that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine 
own sake, and will not remember thy sins." 

Do you remember that beautiful hymn, — ' Rock 
of ages, cleft for me,' — ask dear Horatia to repeat 
it to you for me. Do not think of answering this ; 
your sister will write, and send me a message by 
her, which she will give me in your own words — 
and now my dear, dear friend, I must say Fare- 
well, God bless you, — 

Ever your attached friend, 

H. W. 

CJiettle, 1836. 



LETTER IV. 

Dear dear Horatia, 
What shall I say to you, and dear Emma too, 
how shall I comfort you ; oh, ' The Record ' has 
told me the sad, sad tidings. I almost fear to break 
in upon the deep, deep sorrow of your hearts, 
and yet I must write ; and oh, if human sympathy 
is of any avail, if it can soothe you for one short 



LETTERS. 85 

moment, be assured that ,we do indeed sympathise 
with you, most sincerely, most deeply. Oh ! Ho- 
ratia, I can hardly believe it, is it really true ? is 
he indeed no longer an inhabitant of this world ; 
how I should love to come and weep with you — do 
write to me as soon as ever you can, and tell me 
how you have all been supported through this 
heavy, heavy trial, — I think I see you meekly 
bowing beneath the stroke which has almost over- 
whelmed you. Oh, I could weep with you, but how 
to comfort you I know not, — yet, would you call 
him back? No, oh no, — his pure spirit is now 
before the throne, and " everlasting joy is upon 
his head, and sorrow and sighing have passed 
away " for ever ; — oh, strive to forget what he was, 
and think of him only as he is. 

' Tis beauty celestial which shines on his brow, 
And glory eternal encircles him now. 

Oh, think of him as rejoicing day and night— but 
there is no night there — no more sleepless weary 
nights — no aching head — no throbbing heart — all, 
all, within his redeemed soul pure and tranquil, and 
serene as the light in which he dwells. Yes, you 
say, I know it all — I know he is blessed for ever- 
more, — but he is gone, and I must weep. My 
dear Horatia, you must weep, — but oh, rest your 
aching head upon the bosom of your Divine Lord, 
and weep there, and he will sustain you, and be 



86 LETTERS. 

more to you than a brother. How blessed is that 
sorrow which shakes us from every earthly depen- 
dency, and forces us, though with hearts all broken, 
and hopes all shivered, and bosoms all bleeding, 
to turn away from earth to heaven. May God 
bless you more than I can express, — may he ena- 
ble you to look intently forward beyond the dying 
bed, beyond the grave, beyond the few short years 
which must intervene, to that bright day — that 
day of exceeding joy, when those who loved each 
other so tenderly upon earth, shall surely be re- 
united to part no more for ever. Oh, wipe away 
then, dear Horatia, your tears and think, if it 
were but for a moment where your dear bro- 
ther is ? Is he not in heaven, resting on the 
bosom of his Saviour and his God ? — realize the 
thought, and do you not confidently believe, that 
you too, ransomed by the same Lord, washed by 
the same blood, guided and upheld by the same 
spirit, shall ere long cast anchor in the same haven 
of rest, and with him rejoice for ever ; and is not 
the thought indeed cheering ? Oh, is it not enough 
to make you rejoice even now in the midst of your 
tears. Oh, it must have been a privilege to watch 
his dying bed, to see that calm submission — that 
patience, that earnest desire, to glorify his God 
and Saviour, whether by life, or by death ; this, 
this was the work of divine grace on his soul, — 
surely the image of his Saviour was reflected 



LETTERS. 87 

there. Happy, happy spirit ! — very deep were his 
earthly sufferings, but it was all in the tenderest 
mercy, to rneeten him in Jesus for early glory. — 
I know well, that it is so hard at first to realize 
the feeling that one so loved is indeed gone ; that 
we shall behold him no more, until the resurrec- 
tion morning ; and I know that the keenest pang 
of sorrow is not often felt the first few days, — 
perhaps even now, you are all suffering more than 
just at first. Well, my dear friends, it must be 
so ; and the tear of sad, sad sorrow must be shed, 
and the bosom must swell with many a heavy sigh, 
as memory brings again and again before us so 
faithfully the form so loved. Time alone can 
soften this feeling of lonely desolate bereavement, 
this uninterrupted sense, that something is gone 
for ever, which had so twined itself around our 
heart ; that it seemed almost necessary for our 
very existence, — our very being seems to have lost 
half its energies, — earth almost all that pleased. 
Yes, it is so — but heaven has gained in our affec- 
tions what earth has lost, and oh ! it is a blessed 
exchange, — again, and again dearest Horatio, let 
me intreat you to gather up your thoughts and 
affections from the cold grave, and with submissive 
reverence and subdued feelings, and purified affec- 
tions, press forward ; — soon, very soon, the same 
bright gates shall unfold again, and again, and 
again, and you shall enter, a family in heaven, — 



88 LETTERS. 

Adieu, may God bless you all very abundantly, 
and sustain your fainting spirits by His own im- 
mutable affection in Christ Jesus. 

Ever your attached friend, 
H. W. 

Ckettle, 1836. 



Oh ! many a friend before me, 
Has lifted death's dark veil, 
And pierced the mists of glory, 
"Where ransomed spirits dwell. 

And they had many a sorrow, 
And many a weary day, 
And many a dark to-morrow, 
As they sped their homeward way 

And many a secret moment 
Of bitterness was there, 
For sin, which while -they hated, 
Would still their bosom share. 

And many a sigh of anguish, 
And many a throb of woe, 
At tenderest ties all severed, 
And fondest hopes laid low. 

Yet one hope shed its brightness 
O'er all this sickening scene ; 
And softened all their sorrow 
And sweetened all their pain. 






LETTERS, 89 

A hope so full of glory, 
That ever, as it shone, 
Earth's sorrows all unheeded 
Were scarcely thought upon. 

And now they've past the barrier, 
Which long they dreaded most, 
And the darkly flowing river 
They fearlessly have crossed. 

And they've done with earth for ever, 
With all its nameless ills, 
And they've gained the utmost bounds 
Of the everlasting hills. 

Oh ! when some few more winters 
Their sorrows around have cast ; 
May I with them be sheltered 
And rest with them at last. 



%ttttv$ to Plu& C .. 

LETTER I. 

My dearly loved friend, 
I do hope you have not thought me very negli- 
gent all this long time, nor for one moment per- 
mitted yourself to think me ungrateful or forgetful 
of you ; indeed I feel sure you have not, yet I hope 
you have been rather looking for a letter from me 



90 LETTERS. 

— the real truth is, I have not had one leisure 
morning since my return home, in which I could 
comfortably sit down to converse with a dear and 
absent friend ; and to write a letter to Ireland full 
of nothing, would be ridiculous. 

And now my first leisure morning I sit down to 
fulfil your request, dear Catherine, and to write s a 
sheet brimfull,' but as to telling you any Dorset- 
shire news, I fear I shall be very disappointing, for 
really I seldom hear any. I sit by my own fire- 
side, and think sometimes the world might disap- 
pear and I should scarcely know it. I wish you 
could have come to England, dear friend: but 
your quiet trust in your heavenly Father will 
bring more joy into your mind, than you could 
have received from intercourse with any earthly 
friend, however dear ; and although you have indeed 
left many privileges, which you enjoyed in town, yet 
God himself can so richly make up this loss, that 
soon I am sure the remembrance will not cost you 
one sigh. Oh ! there is something so inexpress- 
ibly sweet in feeling that we are resting in God 
alone, to be able in some measure to say with the 
Psalmist, " Lord, thou hast been our dwelling 
place" " My soul wait thou only upon God," 
" because thou hast been my help, therefore under 
the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice." I believe 
we never know what happiness means until we 
have experienced this weanedness from friends, this 



LETTERS. 91 

hiding ourselves in God, wrapped round as it were 
in his everlasting love, leaning upon his bosom. 
Oh ! it is then that we would not change our 
situation with all its sorrows and trials, for any 
other in the world, because it is just the situation, 
in which our God has placed us, and it is our joy 
that all his will should be done, in us and by us, 
so " we glory in tribulation." Oh ! is there not a 
joy in this resting solely upon God, which nothing 
earthly could ever give ? surely it is an experience 
cheaply gained at the expense even of that earthly 
joy we most fondly prized, and ardently longed 
for. Dear friend, it is no easy thing to say with 
our whole soul, " thy will be done ;" when we have 
arrived at this point, when we can really feel our 
will subdued, and entirely and unreservedly brought 
into a cheerful acquiescence with the will of God. 
Oh, then, surely heaven is begun in the soul, and 
we have only to die, to make that heaven eternal. 
Oh that we could but realize more, all of us, the 
nearness of that wonderful eternity which will so 
soon burst upon our sight, when this poor world 
will be forgotten, or only remembered as a short 
moment. Oh, how shall we wonder then, that we 
could make such very trifles into things of so much 
consequence, and daily almost forget that which 
alone is worth living for. 

I cannot help a feeling of peculiar joy when I 
hear of men of talent becoming decidedly pious, 



92 LETTERS. 

and consecrating their talents to the God who gave 
them to them. An instance of this sort I found in 

one of the tutors of Trinity, a Mr. , who was 

also senior wrangler, and who has become a meek 
and lowly follower of the Saviour. John first in- 
troduced him to me four years ago, and now when 
I saw him again, so evidently a man " renewed in 
the spirit of his mind," I could have wept with 
joy. Surely true religion is much spreading, 

surely it shall preserve the land. Mr. comes 

here sometimes and croaks so, it is frightful, but 
I must think the church will yet stand firm ; how- 
ever, I know we ought not to be too anxious. God 
reigneth ; let his kingdom come, the means and 
the times are his to order. 

Is all quiet around you? we in peaceful Chettle 
seem to have a poor idea of the tranquillity of poor 
Ireland. Do write to me again soon, and tell me 
every thing about yourself — what kind of village 
is yours? what sort of people ? have you any 
Roman Catholics near you ? I scarcely seem to 
think you safe. I do remember you in my poor 
prayers, and I hope you do not forget me a poor 
unworthy being, but one who loves you, and who 
like yourself is clinging to the cross of Christ as 
her refuge, " her only safe retreat." I pray God 
to bless you, and be more to you than all the 
world besides. 

Your truly attached friend. 

Chettle, im. H. W. 



LETTERS. 93 



LETTER II. 

My very dear Friend, 
I feel this afternoon more fit to go under a dock 
leaf, than to write a letter to you. . . .and now I 
scarce know where to begin, or which part of yours 
to reply to first ; but will take the subjects on 
which you touch, in order. I hope, I feel with 
you that I have very much to be thankful for s 
though I know that too often my soul is cast down 
within me. The remembrance of deep sorrows has 
cast a serious sadness over every feeling, whether 
of joy or sorrow ; and in proportion as every thing 
like the vivacity of youth takes its lingering depar- 
ture, I find this serious sadness deepens ; yet, dear 
friend, do not misunderstand me, I join most heart- 
ily in all you say of the loving -kindness of the 
Lord, and no one ever had more reason ; and I 
often wonder how, with such prospects before me, 
which through infinite mercy I trust I may consider 
as mine, I can ever be cast down ; but dear friend 3 
" the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a 
stranger intermeddleth not with it," and there are 
moments when present sorrows, heavily mingling 
with the remembrance of the past, come rushing in 
through the soul like a whirlwind ; but these mo- 
ments of bitterness pass away ; and, thank Grod, 
I am enabled to rise out of them more quietly than 



94 LETTERS. 

formerly, and I trust I may say, as my time on 
earth is shortening, my heart and affections are 
more set on heavenly things. Oh, when will it be 
all over, and sin and sorrow be at an end for ever ; 
but now, did you ever know any thing like me ? 
I thought I was going to answer your letter, and 
see how I am running on. I knew I was only fit 
to hide myself this afternoon — 

" In that dear home, safe in thy wounded side, 

Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide." 

I did rejoice when I found how you were sup- 
ported, dear friend, and enabled to go on your 
way rejoicing. I can enter into all you say on 
our way being made plain before us ; yes, it is 
sweet to feel that we are where God would have 
us to be, and I am more and more persuaded that 
" if we acknowledge him in all our ways, he will 
direct our paths.'' Oh! to be enabled so to realize 
eternal things, that all earthly concerns may be as 
nothing in the comparison. Oh, I would that all 
that is excessive, all that is immoderate in earthly 
cares, anxieties, or affections, were nailed to the 
cross ; that all that is displeasing in the sight of 
God within my soul, oh, that all were crucified 
with Christ. I have been reading Goode on ' The 
better Covenant] as you wished me to do, I have 
got about half through it, and like it very much. 
I think I have in some measure got the better of 
my fastidiousness about style; it was a snare to me. 



LETTERS. 95 

I do not care much about beauty of style now, if 
the sentiment is to my mind, and expressed with 
energy and feeling', but I cannot help thinking 
yet there is some deficiency in Goode. I think 
some writers dwell too much on the work done for 
us, and not enough on the work which must be 
done in us. " As ye have received Christ Jesus 
the Lord, so walk ye in him," — but perhaps I shall 
come to more on this head before I finish. There 
is certainly something very odd about Abbott's 
" Corner Stone," he seems to me to contradict him- 
self; yet I would not condemn him as too many 
do ; his chapters on the last supper, and on the 
crucifixion, are beautiful and very affecting. 
' Time and Temper,' the author gave me himself 
as I passed through town, and had the privilege of 
spending an evening with him. He was one of my 
dearest and oldest friends. We were brother and 
sister almost until I married. We had not met for 
twenty -two long years, and you can easily imagine 
that we lived over again some of those days ; but 
he checked every thing like too much earthliness 
of conversation, and we read the Bible and he 
prayed with us as he used to do, and that little 
book was his parting gift, together with these two 
little words which I shall never forget — * be calm.' 
There is another little work which I am much 
pleased with — Griffith's l Spiritual Life' — Have 
you met with it ? 



96 LETTERS. 

Really your account of the Romans, and your 
situation in the midst of them, is quite appalling to 
me. I cannot think I should feel at ease amongst 
them. I do not like croaking more than you do, 
but just at present things look rather awkward I 
think, not that therefore I am uneasy ; I thank 
God, I know in whose hands we are ; our own 
Father's hand is steering our vessel, but he may 
see fit to permit it to be shaken by many a storm, 
and to be tossed by many a rough and almost over- 
whelming wave. You will say, ' never fear,' his 
faithfulness and truth are pledged to bring it safely 
into harbour. I know it, dear friend, I know it, 
and for ever blessed be his name, it is not these 
things that move me — the rain may fall, and the 
winds blow, and the storms beat, built on the rock 
of ages we may defy the storm and tempest— un- 
derneath us are the everlasting arms, round about 
us is the shield of love divine. Oh, to know more 
of its length, and breadth, and height. 

Your account of the priest made us smile, at the 
same time I could have groaned almost over the 
state of the poor deluded people ; and what is going 
to be done for them ? I do think the Church of 
England has a fearful account against her, when 
I think how little she has ever done for poor Ire- 
land. Dear friend, I rejoice to think that, if God 
will, we may meet this summer, I should indeed be 
sorry to be out should you come, but I do not 



LETTERS. 97 

think it at all probable — my state of health is not 
fit for travelling. I often think that the day of 
my departure cannot be far distant. Oh, to wake 
and find indeed the struggle over, safe for ever, in 
heaven with God, beholding that Saviour who gave 
his life for me, can it be ? Oh, my dear friend, it 
is a very solemn thought — it makes me very se- 
rious at this time. I love to go out but seldom 
any where, but to meditate continually on eternal 
things. Oh, to be where there is no longer any 
sin, where my poor weak heart cannot any more 
wander from my God, my only rest — this, this is 
the one desire of my soul. Dear friend, here is 
another letter full of nothing, and I fear you will 
never have any thing else from 

Your very unworthy friend, 



H. W, 



Chettle, 1835. 



LETTER III. 

My dear friend, 
How heart-cheering are the glorious truths 
which we believe ! Oh, what are earth's sorrows — 
nothing, nothing at all — only let us keep our eye 
steadily fixed upon the joy that is set before us, 
" looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our 
faith " — that one name Jesus seems ten thousand 



98 LETTERS. 

times dearer to me than it ever did, while to con- 
template Him, as the author and finisher of my sal- 
ration, gives me a never-failing hope, that I, even I 
shall overcome and sit down at last in his everlast- 
ing kingdom. But I think I take rather a differ- 
ent view of that, and many similar texts, to what 
most with whom I converse do. I love to look to 
Jesus in a two-fold sense. He died to make an 
atonement for our sins — he lives to carry on, to 
finish our salvation — " His name shall he called 
Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins." 
The word salvation comprehends so very much — 
restoration to the image of God — the soul diseased 
with sin restored to health, and this he has pledged 
himself to do for all those who come to him to he 
healed, to be made whole, to he restored in him to 
the bosom of their God and Father, — Oh what a 
wonderful subject is man's redemption, I never 
grow weary of it. You say, dear friend, that I 
must not call you a high calvinist. I do not know 
that you are one bit a higher calvinist than I am 
myself after all, nor should I ever be likely to say 
any thing of the kind. I exceedingly dislike any 
names of the kind — the sad, sad, party feeling 
which rages now in England, even among the 
best men, is quite sickening — the strife about 
words is wearying — my whole soul turns from it 
all : and oh, is it not sweet to turn away from sys- 
tems, and men, and books, and things, and just 



LETTERS. 99 

take refuge in Jesus Christ, and wrap ourselves 
round as it were in the everlasting love of God, 
reconciled in him who was manifested so wonder- 
fully to a lost world ? John iii. 16. Oh, I have not 
one thought, or hope of salvation, which does not 
centre in Jesus Christ, but, let us never forget what 
that salvation comprehends ; the full meaning of the 
word ; — herein I do think the high calvinistic 
party for many a year past have failed in their 
preaching arid writing. In my younger days, the 
high church party made salvation much too easy a 
thing, — -it was, ' do your duty and trust in Jesus 
Christ to make up what you leave undone ; ' — then 
the evangelical party seem to me, to have made 
salvation also too easy, — " Believe in Jesus Christ 
and be saved." What I mean is, in both cases, 
salvation has been looked to too much as a future 
thing, a being saved from the wrath to come ; and 
not a present thing, a being saved now from the 
power and love of sin — this, indeed, is no easy thing, 
and the conflict is truly arduous. Well indeed it 
is for us that our Saviour is an Almighty Saviour. 
Oh, my dear friend, do you never ask within your- 
self — shall I indeed be saved ? shall I ever be made 
meet for the presence of God ? — And yet it must 
be done, and God is glorified in his children only 
as his own image is reflected in them ; and Jesus 
Christ sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied ; 
only as the fruits of the Spirit shine forth in them, 
f 2 
' L.ofC. 



100 LETTERS. 

— " Love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness." Oh, 
my God ! grant unto me, and to my dear friend, to 
whom I am writing, such a measure of thy Holy 
Spirit, that we may indeed be made meet for thy 
own kingdom and glory : that at the last, when 
this poor world, with all its joys and sorrows shall 
have passed away, we may meet again in that 
world where sin cannot enter, where every tear 
shall be wiped away for ever. — Will you not say, 
dear friend, Amen to this ; I am sure you will. 
And now I must say adieu ; — may God bless you 
with his richest blessings, and be with you in all 
your loneliness, and then you will never feel lonely. 
Ever remember me as 

Your sincerely attached, 

H. W. 

Ckcttle, 1836. 



LETTER IV. 

My dearly loved Friend, 
I am quite sure you have thought me very very 
negligent, and yet I half hope that knowing a 
little how things have been with me, you have not 
thought me inexcusable. I cannot now go back 
to the period of your last, so much has passed 
since then. I only know that that letter was most 
welcome, and spoke my very own feelings, though 



LETTERS. 101 

perhaps I might have worded them somewhat 
differently. I think you rather misunderstood my 
meaning in some expressions in my last to you, 
but I rejoice you did so, because it called forth 
expressions of assurance, which from you, tho- 
roughly delighted and rejoiced my heart. Oh, 
what a mercy to have found that peace which out- 
ward circumstances, be they what they may, can 
never deprive us of; to have cast anchor within 
the vail, whither our forerunner is for us entered ; 
and now although clouds may gather round and 
burst over our head, yet, we " rejoice with joy 
unspeakable and full of glory." For look beyond, 
is not our horizon tinged with glorious hues ? 
Oh yes, all there is bright, all, all is peace ; 
yes, because our Redeemer lives, we shall live also. 
He has given unto us the earnest of his Spirit, 
whereby " we are sealed unto the day of redemp- 
tion." He has sent the spirit of adoption into our 
hearts, whereby we cry, Abba, Father, and oh, " if 
children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint heirs 
with Christ." What promises, what prospects are 
ours ! dear friend, do you sometimes feel faint 
and weary ? sometimes ready to sink beneath the 
waves ? " This is my case, and God vouchsafes to 
give me such bright glimpses within the vail, that 
I think I shall never shed a tear again ; but this 
cannot last; no, earth is earth, and joy cannot last 
until sin is for ever extinguished in the heart. Oh 



102 LETTERS. 

come that blessed day ; how long my strength will 
last I know not, but God knows, and upon his 
promise I rely. I am weaker than water, but I 
lean upon omnipotence, what shall I fear ? I 
know, dear friend, you often think of me ; I know 
I have your prayers ; let us remember mutually 
God is our strength, the most high God our Re- 
deemer ; underneath us are the everlasting arms, 
should we meet no more on earth, surely we shall 
meet. We shall praise our God together in better, 
brighter scenes. Write me a few cheering lines, 
dear friend ; tell me again of the loving kindness 
of my God reconciled in Christ Jesus ; remind me 
how he knows all. He has indeed greatly sus- 
tained and comforted me, and I have never lost 
the sweet assurance, that all is in tenderest love. 
May the best blessings be ever yours, and 

believe me most truly and affectionately yours, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTERS. 103 

%ttttx# to jKr*. £'©— . 
LETTER I. 

My very dear Sister, 
Although it appears to me almost impossible to 
get through a letter, yet I must make the attempt. 
I cannot tell you half the feelings which agitate, 
at times, this poor sinking frame ; but blessed be 
God, I know in whose hands I am, and generally 
speaking, my spirits and mind are calm, quiet, and 
happy. Many anxious thoughts will at times 
obtrude themselves, but as Mr. B — sweetly ex- 
presses it, ie I lay my weary head down on the 
bosom of my Saviour, and leave every thing, 
myself and all that are dear to me, in his hands." 
Dearest Catherine, now I feel what life is — a 
moment ; now I feel the value of a Saviour, and the 
vast importance of attending to that divine com- 
mand, — * s Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it 
with all thy might." God bless you evermore, dear 
sister ; I do indeed feel for you in your present 
state of suffering ; and, yet dear Catherine, cheer 
up once more. What an inestimable privilege is 
ours ! we may, we can, we do look up to God as 
our reconciled Father, a tender, indulgent, most 
merciful Father, not a pain is there that we suffer, 



104 LETTERS. 

not a sorrow is there that we feel, but we may go 
to him, and he helps us through it. " He knows 
our frame, he remembers that we are but dust." Oh, 
I love to read again and again every word that Christ 
spoke when he was on earth ; it is that tender com- 
passion that shewed itself on every occasion that I 
love to dwell upon, and he is the same compas- 
sionate Redeemer still ; his faithfulness and truth 
are my shield and buckler, his love and tender 
mercy are my never-failing support. In this world 
we must have tribulation, and it is not until we 
have drunk very largely of the cup of bitterness, 
which is mercifully, most mercifully put into our 
hands, that we really feel that all here is unsatis- 
factory. "We indeed cling to earth, and scarcely 
move towards heaven till we have been made to 
experience the utter nothingness of all created 
good, and that nothing, nothing but the love of 
God in Christ Jesus can for one moment satisfy 
the soul; there is a weary restlessness of spirit 
without this, even in the midst of earthly enjoy- 
ment ; with it there is a peaceful sacred joy, even 
in the midst of severe suffering, and under the 
painful sense of bereavement, which seems to bury 
our dearest hopes, and almost to rend asunder our 
soul and body. Oh then, let us welcome every 
sorrow which teaches us to know more of the love 
of God in all its length, and breadth, and depth, 
and height, every sorrow which weans our affec- 



LETTERS. 105 

tions from earth and earthly objects, and fixes 
them supremely and for ever upon the rock of 
ages. My dear sister, yet a little while, let pa- 
tience have her perfect work, yet a little while, 
and all will be over, our sorrows, our sufferings, 
all for ever past. 

4 Heaven's eternal joys before us, 
God's own hand shall guide us there.' 

If it is God's blessed will, we may yet spend 
some happy hours together in time, if not, Oh, let 
us look forward to those everlasting scenes of bliss 
where we shall part no more for ever. Pray for 
me, dear sister, as I pray for you, that our faith 
fail not. 

Ever your attached sister, 
H. W. 

Chettle, 1829. 



LETTER II. 

What shall I say to you, my own dear Cath- 
erine, — only last night brought me the intelligence 
of your sad bereavement. Oh, my very heart 
weeps with you. But what can I say ? Oh, that 
I could fly to you. The first feeling of my soul, 
when I read my husband's simple account, * their 
child is taken, their hopes are withered/ was, oh, 
let me go to them ; — but I cannot come, and I 

F 5 



106 LETTERS. 

know that writing will only cause your tears to flow 
afresh, and yet I must write. Do write as soon as 
you can, and tell me, is your soul calm ? Are you 
so upheld, that you do not sink under this heavy 
stroke? Can you feel this too comes from the 
hand of a tender Father, and can you meekly bow 
to his will? Oh, if you are enabled to do this, 
your soul is in peace, you are happy, though your 
poor heart is bleeding. Dear, dear Catherine, I 
cannot comfort you, to attempt it would be vain, 
but there is one who can, who will, who has com- 
forted you ; and I trust that his love, softly breath- 
ing through your soul, has, ere this, calmed all 
that was excessive in your sorrow. I seem to see 
in this dispensation, severe as it seems, how very 
dear you are to him. God perhaps foreseeing that 
this dear infant would take too much hold of your 
heart, that you would have been prone to rest on 
the gift too fondly, has taken her to his bosom. 
He will himself have your whole heart ; dear little 
infant is already in possession of heaven's joys, 
shining before the throne of her Redeemer for ever, 
her young voice already pouring forth his praises 
who loved her so well as to take her thus early to 
himself. Oh, my dear sister, try to think of her 
only as an angel in glory, in full possession of all 
those joys which you never, in all your fondest 
affection, could have procured for her here ; she 
was all lovely, she was your's, and you wept over 



LETTERS. 107 

lier with all a mother's joy, with all a mother's 
teiidei'ness ; and she is gone, and your very soul is 
rent asunder, and your inmost spirit mourns, and 
what can I say, it must be so, the hand which has 
so sorely smitten, that hand alone can heal; and 
to him again and again I commend you both, for 
your dear husband is joined with yourself in all 
my truest sympathy. I see you both weeping, 
mourning together, and yet bowing submissively 
to the stroke which has again torn from you so 
much of earth's purest happiness ; my spirit mourns 
with your spirits, my tears flow with yours, and I 
can hardly help saying, my God, why hast thou 
done this ? Oh, it is a sad sad world, and all these 
sorrows seem to call us to gather up our loose gar- 
ments, and gird them around us, and be ready to 
leave it, for " this is not our rest, because it is 
polluted." My dearly loved sister, I will write no 
more ; I feel the utter inefficacy of any thing- 
friends can say or do ; to God again I commend 
you, with earnest prayer that he will so cause his 
love to shine in upon your bereaved soul, that you 
may feel that he is more to you than ten children. 
God for ever bless you, 

Your truly affectionate sister, 

H.W. 

Exeter ,1829. 



108 LETTERS. 



LETTER III. 

My ever Dear Sister, 
You tell me not to write to you myself, never- 
theless I take my pen, assured that you will not be 
sorry to see my handwriting. " Cast down, but 
not destroyed," wounded, bleeding, but still alive. 
Oh ! my sister, what is life ? What would it be 
but for the bright hope ? Blessed be God for this 
hope ; well may it be called the " anchor of the 
soul," though, alas, it is sometimes but a trembling 
hope ! No, my dear sister, we will not look back, 
I dare not look back, it is so painful : it is only by 
looking forward that I live on — or, rather say, it is 
only through sovereign mercy that I live on, that my 
soul is yet in life. Oh ! may the gracious purposes 
of my God and Saviour be yet accomplished in my 
soul, and I shall, at last, thank him even for this. 
The work must be done ; — the great work — the 
sanctification of the soul — though the furnace be 
heated seven times hotter than usual, it must be 
done, if there be any gold, that the dross at length 
may be consumed. Oh ! when, when will it be ? 
But, dear sister, let the thought cheer your heart, 
that it is but for an appointed time. I am quite 
sure we both feel that our mercies are far more 
than our sufferings. We are yet upon earth, and 
earth must not, cannot be — Heaven. Had we 
nothing here to make us very weary, our souls 



LETTERS. 109 

would not be earnestly longing for that better 
land. Had not the whole earth been deluged — 
had there been one green sunny spot, where she 
could have rested the sole of her foot, the dove 
would not have returned to the ark. It is even so ; 
and surely, when our heavenly Father chastens us, 
it is in tender mercy, because he will not let us 
perish. I think, my dear sister, we have each of 
us learned this lesson, in some measure at least, 
that God is Love. The beautiful emblem of the 
refiner, with its exact propriety, I met with some 
little time since; I exceedingly delight in the 
idea, and do believe that the image of the Lord we 
love, is, in some measure, reflected in the bosom 
of all true believers. The conclusion of the little 
anecdote, if you remember, was this: — " The lady 
was just retiring, when the refiner called her back, 
bidding her especially remember, that he could 
not take his eye off the metal for a moment, lest 
he should lose the exact minute when his own 
countenance was brightly reflected ; for, if he let 
the metal stay in beyond that moment, it would 
be marred." Is not this beautiful? Oh, my 
God, will that moment ever arrive ? Yes ; but not 
upon earth. " I shall be satisfied, when I awake, 
with thy likeness." 

Ever my dear sister, in sorrow or joy, 

Your much attached 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1836. 



110 LETTERS. 



LETTER IV. 



My dearest Sister, 

I thought to myself just now, as I was trying to 
mend my pen to write to you, Now I will not tell 
her any miseries, for what good is there in it ? I 
will confine myself entirely to mercies, and call up 
all my spirits for the occasion ; but, if I do so, 
why, then, perhaps I shall not give you a faithful 
and true picture ; and so things shall come out just 
as they exist, and you will see, dear sister, that 
life with me is just what it has ever been, a mix- 
ture — joys and sorrows, mercies and trials, plea- 
sures and pains, days and nights, make- up the 
whole, and my spirit, still weary, longs for a better 
state of existence. I am looking intently forward, 
and very often say to myself, " There is no night 
there." 

Oh, how one earthly joy after another says, 
good bye to us ! Well, it must be so, and it is 
well. I am just beginning to realize things. A 
heavenly world seems to be opening before me; 
past things seem fading away : all things are be- 
coming new, and sometimes I wonder how such 
trifling things can ever have interested me so. 
Shall we, indeed, meet in that bright world of 
glory ? One stedfast thought of that world makes 
earthly sorrows seem as nothing. How trying is your 



LETTERS. Ill 

lengthened illness, my dear sister; how largely do 
we drink of the cup of sorrow in almost all its 
varieties in this world. Well, do you not say 
with me — 

" Oh, to be brought to Jesus' feet ! 

Tho' sorrows fix me there, 
Is still a privilege, and sweet 

The energies of prayer ; 
Tho' sighs and groans its language be, 

If Christ be nigh, and smiles on me." 

Yes, it is mercy enough that our souls are not 
in hell ; and, oh ! are the sufferings of this life 
worthy to be compared with that eternal weight of 
glory, which we look for so soon ? Oh, my God ! 
only in infinite mercy and love let all these sor- 
rows have their effect, until our inmost souls are 
purified; and all that is within, every thought 
and wish and feeling chastened, subdued, and at 
rest, that we may be made meet for thine own 
presence in glory ! Oh ! have we not learned, at 
length, to look so intently beyond, beyond, beyond 
the present scene of things, even to those habita- 
tions where our home is, where our rest for ever is, 
even in the courts of our Father's house ? Oh ! 
let us then in heart and mind thither ascend, and 
dwell there now almost. I am in a very suffering 
condition, as it respects my poor mortal frame ; 
but, blessed be God, my soul is in peace — my 
anchor is within the vail, sure and stedfast. Be- 



1 \2 LETTERS. 

cause He lives, I shall live also ; we may not meet 
again on earth, but, oh! to look forward and 
think, how short the time, and the everlasting 
morning will dawn. May the glorious contempla- 
tion of the coming realities, all, all the purchase 
of a Saviour's blood, so sustain our wearied faint- 
ing spirits, that pain and suffering may be as no- 
thing to us. Oh ! are we not already come unto 
Mount Zion, and to the city of the living God — the 
heavenly Jerusalem ? Shall we not soon see Him 
who has opened for us, a new and living way into 
the holiest of all ? Are we not waiting till the 
day breaks and the shadows flee away ? Oh ! my 
sister, I only want to know that your soul is in per- 
fect peace, as stayed upon God, and I am content. 
My heavenly Father only knows, how much longer 
my poor strength will hold out ; I am in His hands, 
and blessed be His name, He enables me to leave 
everything to Him, in the belief, that He will 
order everything right for me ; He has promised, 
and I know that He cannot and will not deny 
himself, that as my day is, " my strength shall 
be." I therefore depend upon Him — when the 
hour comes, He will bring me off more than 
conqueror ; but it is an awful thought, all that 
is to come is solemn and awful, yet inexpressibly 
joyful too. 

Dearest Sister, T have every comfort, every 
affectionate attention ; I am quite ashamed I am 



LETTERS. 113 

petted so, remembering my Lord and Saviour 
had not where to lay his head. 

Your truly affectionate sister, 

H. W. 

CUttle, 1838. 



The following words were written in pencil to 
Mrs. L'O , a short time before her death : 

My own loved Sister, 
Once more just to say God bless you both. I 
am happy and full of peace ; Jesus Christ is my 
strength, my rock, my hiding-place, my all. Dear 
John will have said all for me. Ever, yes, ever 
your own. 

H. W. 

1839. 



lUtters; to tlje 3&e&. CijarteS H'<©. 
LETTER I. 

My dear brother, 
When I remember how long it is since I re- 
ceived such a kind letter from you, I am really 
shocked, because you must think me so ungrate- 
ful. You cannot think how welcome that letter 



114 LETTERS. 

was to me ; and how it cheered and refreshed my 
spirit, and strengthened my mind. You know 
that illness alone could have so long kept me si- 
lent ; not but that I could have written, but day 
after day I have thought, another day I shall be 
better able to think, however it is of no use to wait 
for that — my body, and head, and all of me, is but 
a wreck, and so my dear brother, I shall but send 
you a few fragments of the shattering. Ah, well, 
you will say; your vessel is not sunk, so be of 
good cheer, the wreck is floating still, and floating 
nearer and nearer the desired haven. It is so, and 
I am thankful. Will you take your pen and give 
me a faithful account of dear Catherine, and of 
your own welfare? I know I do not deserve that 
you should, but I have nevertheless such confi- 
dence in your affection, that I think you will, 
especially when you call to your remembrance the 
feeble state of your poor sister, and know that 
there is something in your mind and expression 
which suits me exactly, and strengthens me for all 
that may be very close at hand. 

The return of my malady is now fearfully rapid. 
Blessed be God, though sometimes afraid, yet put 
I my trust in him. I cannot doubt, my soul rests 
upon his own word. " Remember the word unto 
thy servant, upon which thou hast caused me to 
hope." Has not God been my refuge through 
many a weary year, and shall I fear ? It cannot 



LETTERS. 115 

be that he will ever leave me. Oh, no ! though 
sometimes the past comes so vividly before my 
eyes, with all its train of wretched deformity, that 
I am obliged to hide my eyes, and run, nay fly to 
Calvary ; and oh, if the blood shed there does not 
just blot out every page of my memoirs, I am lost, 
— but there I, even I am safe. But will it not ? 
I do trust it will, and I cannot tell you the depth 
of rest my soul generally feels in believing this. 

Give my tenderest love to your dear wife. Is 
she gaining strength ? — tell me every thing. Oh, 
how you have both suffered ! but is it not good ? 
How sad it is that earthly anxieties should, like a 
thick fog, too often obscure the bright shining of 
the sun. I never dwell upon the thought of see- 
ing either of you again upon earth, but so habitu- 
ally now do I look forward beyond the bed of 
death, beyond the cold grave, to that land where 
the inhabitant shall no more say, I am sick, that 
it seems but a little while and we shall meet. Oh 
yes, we shall, and how sweet will be our song of 
praise, how perfect our friendship there ! 
Ever believe me, 

Your truly affectionate sister, 

H. W, 

Chettle, 1838 



116 LETTERS. 



LETTER II. 

My dear Brother, 
I have just read over again for the fourth time, 
your last letter ; it was most welcome to me, it 
did my heart, and soul, and spirit good, and now 
I write a few lines just to say, write to me again. 
Your letters, God is pleased to permit to be helps 
to my soul, every word I prize, every word seems 
real. I have little to say that is worth saying — - 
my malady has made me so weak, that no won- 
der my hand shakes, and my poor head is all con- 
fusion. Bless God, his faithfulness and truth 
continue to be my support and consolation — all 
his paths are mercy and truth. How much longer 
this state is to last, I indeed know not, but my 
heavenly Father knows, and that is enough. Oh ! 
I delight in feeling that the case is His, not mine. 
To live or to die, it is his to decide. I am con- 
tent to live on, so I may but be strengthened to 
live to his honour and glory. Yes, dear brother, 
he will give us strength for each day, and for each 
trial as it arrives, and that is enough, there my 
strength is treasured up. I have none, not an 
atom, but He is my strength, therefore I fear not ; 
but I do not always feel just so. Oh, sometimes 
I tremble a little. I have such full views of His 
infinite holiness, and of my own wretchedness, that 



LETTERS. 117 

sometimes I quite shake, but as ' the limpet to 
the rock,' so clings my soul to the Rock of Ages. 
Oh ! were it not for that cleft in the rock, where 
could my soul flee unto ? but with Moses, the 
faithful servant of the Lord, I hide myself there. 
Sometimes too, I feel impatient because the shores 
of Canaan recede as I seem to approach. Oh for 
patience and faith. That day will come, and 
when 'tis past, I shall awake in glory. 

How I wish you could come ! Yes, ' distance 
is like night,' but there, in that blest land, for 
which we are bound, there is no more night. 

* No midnight shade, no clouded moon, 
But sacred, high, eternal noon.' 

My brother, is it true, are we fast travelling to 
that better country ? shall we indeed soon meet 
around our Father's throne ? Imagine what our 
meeting will be ! Oh my God, then we shall 
know what thy love has done for us ! A few 
more struggles, a few more conflicts, a few more 
tears, and then, oh then we shall shout victory ! 
victory ! 

I cannot write any more, every inch of me is 
throbbing. Dear brother and sister, God bless 
you for ever, and ever and ever, — God bless you. 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1839. 



118 LETTERS. 

HettaJ to #ffatf. fl -. 

LETTER I. 

My dearest Sister, 
Ever since I received your last deeply interest- 
ing letter, I have been waiting till a quiet morning 
gave me leisure, and until a mind in some measure 
calm, and at rest, would permit me to answer it as 
I could wish. I wept over it, and could only 
carry you and your sorrowing heart to a God of 
mercy, and love, and faithfulness. Oh ! my sister, 
in every feeling I can go with you. Your heart is 
indeed very broken still, and did you think that 
so soon, the wounds w T ould have ceased to bleed ? 
Oh, it cannot be— in two years, ■ three years, a 
sweet serenity will return, but expect not that 
ever again in this world, all within your bosom 
will be calm as it was wont to be. No, in the 
sweetest seasons of joy, when our children are 
around us, and all seems joyous and gay, the 
mother's heart returns in fond remembrance to 
those so loved ; and too often, instead of joining in 
the happiness of those who are indeed as dear, 
her heart is in the grave, or in the chancel 
vault. This is my experience, dear Caroline, nor 
would I have it otherwise, — I never found a 
human heart that could understand me. My joy 



LETTERS. 119 

is, that God knows the inmost recesses of my soul, 
and I know no sweeter moments than those in 
which, with a heart all broken, I turn to him and 
weep upon that compassionate bosom, and find 
there a calmness, a joy, which nothing earthly ever 
could have given. Dearest sister, do you under- 
stand me? You must not imagine I think your 
grief sinful in the sight of God ; it is not, and I 
believe we oftentimes debar our souls from much 
spiritual joy and consolation, by grieving over 
those things as sinful which are not, and this pre- 
vents us from going to God at once, with sweet 
confidence, as to a reconciled, forgiving, compas- 
sionate Father, who has corrected us in love, and 
who would pour the rich consolations of his own 
word into the soul which he has loved well enough 
to chasten and subdue, and bring close to himself. 
Bishop Hopkins says, " sometimes the very deli- 
cacy of a man's spirit will make him dissolve into 
weeping, and the love of God, as a heavenly flame 
enkindled in the heart, will distil tears through 
the eyes ; the tenderness of his spirit will engage 
him to a sweet mourning over his faults and mis- 
carriages, and w T hile the spirit of God moves upon 
the face of these waters, the next thing to be cre- 
ated on that soul is light, peace, and joy." Dear- 
est, dearest sister, you expect too much of your- 
self, you try too much to overcome what you 
cannot overcome ; let alone all effort to overcome 



1 20 LETTERS. 

sorrow, and be content to suffer for awhile — very 
deeply our heavenly Father would have us suffer 
at times. You have not wept enough yet, my 
sister ; do not think me hard-hearted, I could 
freely come and mingle my tears with yours ; but 
let this chastening suffice, do not be like your poor 
sister, and need another and another. Oh, I am 
more than ever convinced, that it is no easy matter 
to be a Christian. I think of all God has done for 
us, of all he must do in us, to make us meet in 
Christ in that glorious state of inheritance which 
he has purchased for us with his own blood, till I 
tremble ; while at the same time I am filled with 
admiring gratitude and love. When is it that " He 
shall see of the trava'l of his soul and shall be sat- 
isfied ?" Will he wait for this until the full num- 
ber of his redeemed people shall meet in heaven, 
and together sound his praise ? Is it not rather as 
he watches the gold in the fire, purifying, refining, 
stirring until his own image is reflected there ? Let 
us rejoice, then, in the midst of our tears. The 
will of God has been done in us. " Even so 
Father, thy will be done." If from any of my 
letters at any time I have given you reason to 
think better of me, dear Caroline, than I deserve, 
I desire to be deeply humbled before God on this 
account. You must only think of me as I am ; a 
most unworthy, weak, trembling creature, longing 
to know more of the power of religion. Religion 



LETTERS. 121 

is not mere sentiment — it is not mere feeling — it 
is not merely doing. What is it 1 It must operate 
as a check or it is nothing. Oh, that every 
thought and feeling of my soul were purified, and 
restrained and set right. But how hard it is to feel 
rightly in matters where we have almost all our lives 
felt wrongly. It is indeed an arduous conflict; 
yet, yet I trust God will himself bring us off more 
than conquerors ; oh, yes, and he will enable you, 
dear sister, to raise your thoughts above the cold 
tomb, and to gird your garments close to you, and 
set out afresh for heaven. " Thy children are bles- 
sed for ever." 

Nor need they now their mother there, 
To dry their tears, to soothe their care. 

Write soon, I so long to know that a sweet soft 
sunshine is gently breaking through your tears. 
It has been a long cold winter, but summer is 
nigh at hand ; we wait with patience, because we 
know the wind will cease, and the clouds must 
disperse, and the summer sun must, ere long, 
shine in all its beauty and strength, and cheer and 
revive all things — even so, let us go on our little 
span of life. " Heaviness may endure for a night, 
but joy cometh in the morning." Joy is for hea- 
ven, not for earth, except a sacred holy joy in God. 
and shall we indeed meet our children there ? Shall 
we really awake from the tomb, and be saved for 
ever, to dwell in that light, where no earthly pas- 

G 



122 LETTERS. 

sion shall ever disturb the sweet serenity of the 
redeemed soul ? Surely this is joy enough for us 
here — only let us live upon the thought. 
Ever believe me, 

Your much attached Sister, 

H. W. 

Otettle, 1836. 



LETTER II. 

My dearest Sister, 
After reading your very welcome letter, I long, 
so to converse with you a little, that I must take 
up my pen instead, though that will only convey 
to you a very small part indeed of what I wish to 
say. Yes, every feeling I fully entered into with 
you, I can see the sweet dear babe looking more 
than ten thousand words ; meekly expressing the 
earnest desire, yet contented. I see the dear head 
quietly laid down again on that bosom which aches 
to give the wonted nourishment, now no longer 
there ; but this is too exquisitely painful for me 
to dwell upon. Oh ! Caroline, my dearest sister, 
God is teaching you just as he has taught me ; our 
feelings, our experience is become so exactly alike. 
Still I do desire to bless my God and Father for 
all. As the past seems to be fading from before 
me, and as earthly joys one by one take their final 



LETTERS. 123 

farewell of my poor heart, I do trust that that 
heart with all its affections and desires is becoming 
more purified, more meet for that heaven where 
my soul would be. Oh, it is not an easy thing to 
rise from earth to heaven, to cease from seeking 
our enjoyment in any earthly thing or being, to 
let go all human dependencies, and to live daily 
and hourly that hidden life of faith which alone is 
to live. A new world seems to be daily opening 
to my view. " Old things are passing away, all 
things are becoming new." I begin to see that 
there is a happiness even upon earth, and I some- 
times feel it ; it is a consciousness that your will 
is subdued, renewed ; a quiet giving up of earthly 
things, but many a hard blow is needed to bring 
us into this happily resigned, and submissive state 
of mind. Do you remember that expression of 
Halyburton, ' My soul needs braying in a mortar,* 
so does mine ; and dear Caroline, I do thank God 
with my whole heart, that he has so ' brayed it ;' 
I thank him that by any means, he has at length, 
I humbly trust, in some measure weaned my affec- 
tions from earth, and earthly things, and enabled 
me to turn away from all things earthly here, yes, 
even from those held dearest, and to seek in him, 
and his everlasting love, my heaven, my all. I 
earnestly desire that all undue affection, all that is 
excessive in earthly feelings, may together with 
my Saviour be nailed to the cross. Henceforward 
g 2 



124 LETTERS. 

I do most earnestly desire to know no will but 
God's. Oh, that I could for ever act with a single 
desire for his glory, and account all else but as 
little worth — this is my desire ; but oh, my daily 
shortcomings grieve me ; again and again I can 
only take refuge at the foot of that cross. Oh, 
Caroline, with what unspeakable feelings of joy, 
and thankful adoring frames shall we together 
trace the dealings of God with us in the wilder- 
ness, when through his divine mercy we shall meet 
in those blessed mansions purchased and prepared 
for us by the love of a dying Saviour. There our 
dear, ever dear children are gone before us, and 
oh, I delight to think of them — no tear in their 
eyes — no sorrow in their hearts — their little bosoms 
beating with the purest joy, and as calm, as tran- 
quil as the sea of glass before the throne. Yet a 
few years it is ours to do his will below, and there 
is joy in that, and then we shall join our voices 
with theirs for ever. Do give my affectionate 
regards to Mr. N. I never think of his kind 
solicitude about my health, without feelings of 
lively gratitude, should I not be so well I shall 
write immediately, — and believe me ever 

Your affectionately attached sister, 

H. W. 

Cheffle, 1836. 



I 



REFLECTIONS. 125 

Not with thy rod, 

My gracious God, 

Not with thy rod, 
But with thy grace and with thy love, 
And with thy Spirit from above, 
Subdue my inmost soul to thee, 
Let me thy full salvation see. 

Oh ! give me grace 

To run my race, 
Seeking in Jesus Christ my only resting-place, 

Pilgrim and stranger here, 

To watch without a tear, 

Earth's dearest joys decay 

And, gone for ever, fade away, 
Oh thou ! who mighty art to save, 
Teach me to look beyond the grave, 

With eye intent 

On thy dear cross, 

All earthly joy to count but loss. 

So that at last 
This feverish dream of being past, 
This aching heart and throbbing breast, 
And wearied mind, a//, all at rest, 
I may return to thee my God, 

And be for ever blest. 



^ome fefo reflecting, fotti) jfijort me&ttattons on 
different terts of Scripture, IouvlQ Among ti)t ortgt* 
nal papers. 

What has to-day done for me ? Has it brought 
me nearer heaven ? Has it been devoted to 



126 REFLECTIONS. 

the service of God, or spent merely in pleasing 
myself ? 



Let this be ever uppermost in my thoughts, 
that I am an immortal being, only now beginning 
an existence which will never end ; and oh ! how 
much depends upon the use that I make of this, 
my first state of existence. Let me remember, 
that every hour comes to me charged with its own 
duty, and the moment it is spent, returns to 
heaven to register itself, how spent, — O God, help 
me so to " number my days, that I may apply 
my heart unto wisdom." 



James iv. 14. — " What is our life? It is 
even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, 
and then vanisheth away." — According to the 
manner in which each day is spent, so will our 
character stand in God's sight. Time is short, 
life is passing away, ask yourself where is yester- 
day; numbered with the ages that are gone, — 
yesterday, with all its joys and sorrows, all its cares 
and sins, is gone for ever — so, just so, has passed 
every day since you were born, — so to-day is 
passing, and with you into forgetfulness — it may 
be to you as if it had never been; but not so with 
God. In His book every sin is recorded, and 



REFLECTIONS. 127 

appears to His eye in all its deep colouring, in all 
its freshness, in all its hatefulness, just as at the 
first moment of commission, — One clay with God 
is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as 
one day. — Oh! then take heed to your ways. — ■ 
What an all-important question, wherewithal 
shall I come before God ? remember to Him we 
must ere long give an account, and all things are 
naked and open before Him, with whom we have 
to do. 

We should never go forth from our chamber 
without serious solemn prayer to God. It is well 
to reflect, before we address His throne, upon what 
we are about to do. — Remember who God is— 
remember what you are, a poor lost perishing 
sinner, about to speak to the most high God. 
Collect your thoughts, call to mind your wants, 
then with the lowest prostration of soul draw 
nigh to the mercy-seat — then plead with God the 
merits of your Saviour — see, at the mention of 
that name, the King of kings holds out the golden 
sceptre — draw nigh with faith, with humble affec- 
tionate confidence — now tell Him all your sor- 
rows — confess to Him all your sins — pour out 
your heart before him. Remember, no word 
spoken to God from a heart deeply sensible of its 
wants — of its sins — of its helplessness can be lost, 
• — every word will ascend up before the throne, 
sprinkled with the sweet incense of a Saviour's 



128 REFLECTIONS. 

blood, and every word return again laden with a 
Father's blessing to your soul, — so strengthened, 
go fearlessly forward to meet the events of the 
day. Let what will come, you are safe — safe for 
time — safe for eternity. — Oh ! the blessedness, the 
privilege of that soul which " has fled for refuge, to 
lay hold on the hope set before us ; which hope we 
have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and sted- 
fast, and which entereth into that within the veil." 

O Lord my God, to thee belong, 
The morning praise, the evening song, 
Each hour, each moment, would I raise 
Fresh Ebenezers to thy praise. 



As nothing but sin can separate the soul from 
God, so nothing but sin ought really to damp our 
joy. It is the christian's privilege to rejoice. The 
joy of the Lord is his strength. Omy soul, is this 
thy experience ? Dost thou feel this inward joy 
in a crucified Saviour ? Art thou leaning on His 
omnipotent arm ; resting on His covenant faith- 
fulness, and unchanging love ? 

" From every sin that soul must flee, 
That seeks repose, Lord, in Thee.'"' 



Oh ! my much-loved Saviour, what shall I 
render unto thee for all thy mercies ? When I 
look back upon the long illness which thou hast 



REFLECTIONS. 129 

been pleased in infinite mercy and love, to bring 
me through ; when I recollect all thy faithfulness 
and truth ; that no arm but thine has supported 
me — no love but thine has soothed me— upon 
no bosom but thine have I rested my aching 
weary head, — O my God ! I am filled with grati- 
tude and adoring praise — " Because thou hast been 
■my help, therefore under the shadow of thy wings 
will I rejoice" 



The glorious sun has stepped forth this morn- 
ing from his chamber with magnificent brightness ; 
beneath the splendour of his beams the snow has 
all melted away ; at the brightness of his counte- 
nance the hoary frost has gathered up his gar- 
ments, and has fled to the innermost recesses of 
his own dark caves, for ever gloomy, and for ever 
sad; no kindly feeling ever for one moment cheers 
his cold, cold bosom; no smile of joy ever illumes 
his cheerless eye. He is gone, and all nature re- 
vives — all nature rejoices, and shall not I rejoice ? 
Yes, O my God ! so let the bright beams of thy 
love melt and subdue my frozen heart, so shine 
into my soul, and let the magnificence of thy 
beauty so satisfy my heart, so draw my affections 
to thyself, O thou centre of all joy, thou eternal 
and uncreated excellence, that earth may lose its 
hold, that sin may wither and die, or flee away 
65 



130 REFLECTIONS. 

like the frost, to its own dark caves, so shall my 
whole soul rejoice in thee my God — so shall all 
the affections of my heart expand with holy free- 
dom, and repose in thee for ever. 



Look at that beautiful mountain, the clouds seem 
to rest upon its summit ; but they do not, they 
cannot. Its top has pierced through them, and 
they find there no resting-place. So is it with all 
earthly things. My soul, learn a lesson from these 
clouds. Oh ! learn no more so fondly to rest upon 
any created good. " My soul, wait thou only 
upon God, for my expectation is from him." 



Letters are unsatisfactory — friends are unsatis- 
factory — all earthly things are unsatisfactory. In 
God alone, known to me in the gospel of His 
son, is jiothing that disappoints ; oh ! my soul, 
wait thou only upon God. 



Not but that a Christian feels, and perhaps far 
more keenly feels, than a worldly character, the 
loss of those he has dearly loved ; but still his 
heart reposes in God. And when the first wild 
throb of anguish is past, there is a calmness, a 
sacred joy in his quiet submission, which the world 
knoweth not. 



REFLECTIONS. 131 

®it fcetmj toll* bv fyv ©augljter it foas a 3afc 
gloomy Ptormng. 

Oh! many a joyous morn, my love, 

Succeeds a night of sorrow, 
And many a gloomy day, my child 

May bring a bright to-morrow. 
Then let us onward speed our way, 

Rejoicing amidst sorrow, 
The griefs which press us down to-day, 

May all be gone to-morrow. 
And, oh ! at last will come a day, 

All bright and free from sorrow, 
And that eternal day of joy 

Shall fear no dark to-morrow. 



Beware of the fascinations of poetry, music, and 
drawing ; these from their very refinements and 
elegance, imperceptibly injure the spirituality of 
the mind. Beware of the poetry of religion, of 
indulging in fine feelings and exalted sentiments, 
which, however delightful to a refined and imagi- 
native mind, renders us unfit for the dull routine 
of daily duties, and the solid requirements of real 
religion. God does not require us always to be 
in a state of spiritual ectasy and excitement, but 
" to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk hum- 
bly with our God." 



132 REFLECTIONS. 

It appears to me that our lives as Christians are 
much too easy — too easy even for our own happi- 
ness and enjoyment in the Christian life. We have so 
much of this world's good, that we forget we are 
here but as strangers and pilgrims. We are so 
much at ease, that we look not to Jesus Christ as 
our spirit's resting-place. We dwell in so much 
security, that we fly not to Him as our refuge. 
Our wants are so well supplied, that we scarcely 
know what a life of faith means. Self-denial makes 
hut a small part of our religion. We know very 
little what it is to take Christ as our all-satisfying 
portion, and to count all things but dross for his 
sake ; no wonder that we go on our way mourn- 
fully. Most assuredly we have no right to expect 
that holy and abiding joy which those early Chris- 
tians enjoyed, who ate their bread with groans, 
and mingled their drink with tears, whom nothing 
disheartened, — to whom loss of fortune, loss of 
friends, cold, hunger, nakedness, and the sword 
were welcome, so that they might be found in 
Christ. Let us not then be gloomy, or cast down 
in looking on the times of trouble, which seem 
to be approaching. Should the great Captain of 
our salvation call us to suffer for His sake, He 
will arm us for the conflict, and we shall be happy, 
in passing through any fiery trial that may be ap- 
pointed to us for His glory. 



REFLECTIONS. 133 

Genesis i. 2. — " The earth was without form 
and void," &c. How exactly does this describe 
the human heart, a perfect chaos, void, and dark, 
till the Spirit of God moves upon it, and he says, 
" Let there be light." Oh ! then, the darkness 
disperses, light, and life, and order succeed to the 
mass of confusion and chaos. What a change ! 
every feeling, every affection of the heart becomes 
holy to the Lord, for the light of God shines upon 
it. How little can the turbulent scenes of earth 
disturb the repose of a heart so enlightened ; how 
little can the joys of earth add to its brightness ; 
or the sorrows of earth diminish its lustre. 



1 John ii. 15. — "Love not the world; neither the 
things that are in the world. If any man love the 
world, the love of the Father is not in him." O 
my God ! how very little do I know what this 
means, — so to love thee, that the love of the world 
may be altogether subdued, annihilated in my 
breast. O my Saviour, help me so to contem- 
plate thy eternal perfection, so to meditate upon 
thy never-dying love, that the world with all its 
honours, and all its splendours, and all its vanities, 
may fade away in my estimation, into their real 
nothingness. Lord ! help me to love thee with a 
perfect love ; to surrender up to thee my whole 
soul : to pluck out a right eye, to cut off the 



134 REFLECTIONS. 

right hand which would keep me back from thee. 
Thou knowest, O Lord, that my soul longs for 
more spiritual life, more deadness to the world, 
and to have all my earthly anxieties calmed down 
into " Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in 
thy sight." 

AH here is deceptive, and empty, and vain 

The world is one great Panorama ; 
Very fine are the scenes it presents to our view, 
And we look till we really believe they are true, 

And then act our part in the drama. 



I find all other knowledge but of little value, 
compared with the knowledge of my Bible. In 
this one sacred volume, I learn the true cause of 
all my sorrows, all my sufferings, — and blessed be 
God, I find also a solace for all, — a hope so full of 
glory, that it makes these light afflictions, which 
are but for a moment, absolutely welcome. I 
learn, that " by one man sin entered into the world, 
and death by sin," — that " Jesus Christ came into 
the world to save sinners," — that " God was in 
Christ, reconciling the world to himself," — that 
man is redeemed, pardoned, accepted, justified, 
sanctified, in the renewal of his mind, day by day, 
after the image of Him who created him, — to the 
subjection of every thought, every wish, to the 
will of God, every affection of the soul purified ; 
that being at peace with God through Jesus Christ, 



REFLECTIONS. 135 

his soul rises to his reconciled Father day by day. 
Heaven seems already begun, — he has only to die 
to make that heaven eternal. 

O my God and Saviour ! let me never forget, 
that it is to thee, and thee alone, that we owe this 
great salvation. Thou didst die to atone for man's 
sins. Thou didst rise again from the tomb, to 
plead thy merits before the throne of God the 
Father, and to carry on thy work of grace in the 
hearts of thy redeemed people ; and to thy name 
shall be all the praise from first to last. " To 
Him that loved us, and hath washed us from our 
sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and 
priests unto God and his Father ; to him be glory 
and dominion, for ever and ever. Amen." 



Look around upon this wide world, so beautiful, 
but so lost, — beautiful in creation, but lost by 
man's sin. Look round upon it just before the 
flood, and what do we find ? One only man who 
feared God, — all the rest having " every imagina- 
tion of their heart only evil, and that continually." 
Look again at the state of the world at the time 
of the Saviour's birth ; — every nation, even Greece 
and Rome, wholly given up to idolatry, and the 
Jews themselves, who had some knowledge of the 
true God because he had revealed himself to them 
from time to time ; yet even there " the whole 



136 REFLECTIONS. 

head was sick." Isaiah i. 5. What do these facts 
teach us, — what is the doctrine deducible from 
them ? That, as it regards God, man has natur- 
ally no desire after him — no love towards him, 
and could be quite as happy, if not happier, in his 
forgetfulness that there is any such Being ; even 
an amiable man, one who would do all the good 
he could for the happiness of his fellow-creatures, 
yet naturally seeks no portion of his happiness in 
God, — the world has a thousand charms for him ; 
but when does he retire from that world, and seek 
his best joy in communion with his God ? — by 
nature, never. There may be much good feeling 
between man and man, but this is not religion. 
The spiritual life is truly said to differ from the 
merely moral one, as animal motion differs from 
mechanical motion, or as a man walking differs 
from a clock going, — the clock may go well, but 
has not animal life, and a man may walk well, 
yet have no spiritual life. How great is that 
power that worketh in us who believe, — what a 
wonderful change is wrought upon us, — a change 
so known and felt, that " old things pass away, 
and all things become new." % Cor. v. 17. 



The cross — the cross, is the golden vision, to 
which the eye of the Christian warrior for ever 
turns, — upon which the eye of the weary pilgrim 



REFLECTIONS. 137 

ever rests, as he journeys onwards towards 
his much longed-for home, — towards which, as 
his last, his only hope, the heavy-laden sinner 
turns, and raising his tearful eye, feels for the 
first time, a beam of mercy thrilling through his 
inmost soul, and speaking peace to his troubled 
breast. ' Then plunge thy thirsty blade into my 
breast.' 

' groundless depths ! oh love beyond degree, 
Th' offended dies, to set the offender free.' 

'■ Loose him and let him go, I have found a ran- 
som." This is the Gospel. 

8 Where shall the tribes of Adam find^ 
The sovereign good to fill the mind ? 
Ye sons of moral wisdom, show 
The spring whence living waters flow. 

In vain I ask — for nature's power 
Extends but to this mortal hour ; 
' Twas but a poor relief she gave 
Against the terrors of the grave. 

Jesus, our kinsman, and our God, 
Arrayed in majesty and blood, 
Thou art our life ; — our souls in thee 
Possess a full felicity. 

All our immortal hopes are laid 
In thee our surety, and our head ; 
Thy cross, thy cradle, and thy throne, 
Are big with glories yet unknown. 

Oh, let my soul for ever lie 
Beneath the blessings of thine eye ; 
' Tis heaven on earth, 'tis heaven above, 
To see thy face, to taste thy love.' 



138 REFLECTIONS. 

I often wonder at myself, when I calmly and 
quietly take a view of the nearness and certainty 
of the day of trial. When I remember the all 
that is at stake, and then think for a moment of 
what I have been doing all my life long, — the 
vanity and worldliness, and utter nothingness, 
which has engrossed so much of my time and 
thoughts, I am overwhelmed ; — what should we 
be doing, but living to Him, who has bought us 
with His oivn blood ? nothing else will do. 



The spirit of God surely strives with the soul of 
every man, at least every one who is born in a 
land called Christian, and who is baptized in the 
name of Christ, and who hears the doctrines, or 
some of the doctrines, of Christianity. This be- 
lief does not interfere with the doctrine of origi- 
nal sin, or the alienation of fallen man from his 
God. What is the lowest interpretation to be put 
on Romans v. 18 — " As by the offence of one, 
judgment came upon all men to condemnation ; 
even so, by the righteousness of one, the free gift 
came upon all men unto justification of life ? " 
Christ died for all, though all are not saved ulti- 
mately. The greatest misery of the eternally lost, 
will be the remembrance of how often they 
quenched and slighted, and neglected, and smo- 
thered, the strivings of the Spirit within them. 



REFLECTIONS. 139 

"Acquaint now thyself with God, and be at 
peace." Job xxii. 21. — God, out of Christ, is a 
consuming fire, — in Him, a reconciled Father. 
How blessed is it, thus to know God, as redeemed 
by the blood of the cross. When by faith we see 
our sins pardoned, then we feel the constraining 
influence of the love of Christ ; and this begets a 
holy filial fear of offending him, and of grieving 
his Holy Spirit. The consciousness of being ac- 
cepted of God in Jesus his beloved Son, gives a 
sacred peacefulness of spirit, which, if sin in any 
shape is yielded to, is interrupted and lost imme- 
diately. Who can tell the sweet peace which flows 
into the soul so resting upon God ; or how, when 
sin destroys this, there is no rest, until sprinkled 
afresh by the blood of Jesus. " How can we that 
are dead to sin live any longer therein ?" — it cannot 
be. There is a holy shrinking from sin, which 
continually increases, in the one desire to live to 
the glory of the Saviour, as the image of that 
Saviour becomes more and more stamped upon 
the soul. 



John v. 6. — " When Jesus saw him lie, and knew 
that he had been now a long time in that case, he 
said unto him, Wilt thou be made whole ?" — What 
a question! " Wilt thou be made whole?" My soul, 
it is put to thee. O Lord God, help me to say from 



140 REFLECTIONS. 

my inmost soul — Yes, yes, thou Son of the most 
high God, make me whole as thou didst the poor 
impotent man ; cleanse my soul from the leprosy 
of sin ; say to me as to the poor leper, " I will, be 
thou clean." O my Saviour, from first to last, 
thou art my only hope, a poor perishing self-de- 
stroyed sinner — I come to thee again and again. 
* Thou must save, and thou alone.' 

' Nothing in my hand I bring, 
Simply to thy cross I cling.'' 

But O my God, give me to feel more and more 
daily, hourly, the power of that cross. — Oh ! that 
every sin may be crucified. Oh ! that the love of 
the world, the love of sin in every shape, were 
nailed to the cross for ever. To know Christ in 
the power of his resurrection. — What does this 
mean ? Surely, to be raised again in newness of 
life. — O my God and Saviour, help me to love 
thee, help me to serve thee, help me to be thine, 
and only thine for ever. 



Nehemiah ix. 21. — " Yea, forty years didst thou 
sustain the children of Israel in the wilderness, so 
that they lacked nothing. Their clothes waxed 
not old, and their feet swelled not." — Surely thou 
art a God of faithfulness and truth, when did ever 
any trust in thee, and were disappointed ? my 



REFLECTIONS. 141 

God, /, even I } a poor sinful weak child of man, 
even I desire to testify of thy faithfulness and 
truth. — This day completes forty-six years of 
weariness, and of sin, and of frequent sorrow ;— 
Oh ! how often in that time have I murmured 
against thee, — how hast thou forgiven me, and 
again made waters to flow in the desert. How 
hast thou followed and prevented me, and hedged 
me in when I would have gone astray from thee ; 
and chastened, and corrected, and subdued, and 
kept me. How hast thou had patience, and borne 
with all my impatience — all my coldness, all my 
self-will. — How hast thou supplied all my wants, 
so that I have lacked nothing. — How has mercy, 
and tenderness, and love been mixed in every cup 
of sorrow, which thou hast given me to drink, and 
almost led me to forget its bitterness. — My God ! 
my soul is full of praise and thanksgiving, when I 
remember all thy loving-kindness to me, from my 
youth up. Here then I raise my Ebenezer, 
hitherto thou hast helped me, Thou, Lord, hast 
been my dwelling-place for many a long year. My 
soul resteth in thee and is satisfied. But how hast 
thou taught me this ? I can scarcely tell, yet, for 
ever blessed be thy name, thou hast taught me — - 
Thou hast taken from me many an idol ; thou 
hast not suffered me to rest where I could have 
sought my rest, and perhaps have been satisfied. 
Oh ! thou hast called me to feel with many a 



142 REFLECTIONS. 

tear, that all here is vanity — that nothing is true 
but thyself. Nothing, nothing but thyself can 
satisfy an immortal soul. O Lord my God ! I 
thank thee for all — and in all that is yet to come 
of life, I leave myself to thy faithful care, to thy 
covenant everlasting love. 

How safe, how calm, how satisfied, 
The soul that rests in thee. 



Psalm lxi. 2. — (! From the end of the earth will I 
cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed : 
lead me to the rock that is higher than I." — 
" When Peter was beginning to sink" Oh ! then 
it was that he sent forth that earnest cry, " Lord ! 
save 9?ie" — Thou compassionate Saviour, like 
Peter I cry unto thee, " Lord! save me" as wave 
after wave of affliction rolls over my soul. Stretch 
out thine arm to me, as thou didst to Peter, that 
I sink not in the mighty waters. " Immediately 
Jesus stretched out his hand and caught him." — 
Not a moment could his compassion endure to see 
his servant sinking. Oh ! what a moment of un- 
speakable bliss was that to Peter, worth whole 
hours of suffering. " My Lord and my God ! " so 
let me feel thy hand supporting me, I shall not 
then sink. As the shadow of a rock in a weary 
land, so hast thou been to me in my journey 
hitherto through the wilderness, and so wilt thou 



REFLECTIONS. 143 

be until life's last sigh shall breathe out my soul 
to thee. 



Romans viii. 38, 39. — " Fori am persuaded, that 
neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, 
nor powers, nor things present, nor things to 
come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other crea- 
ture shall be able to separate us from the love of 
God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." O my 
soul, then what hast thou to fear ? — Nothing but 
sin., God is immutable in his promises, and they 
are all yea, and amen in Christ Jesus. His char- 
acter is unchangeable — His faithfulness and truth 
remain for ever sure — His love changes not — 
Nothing, nothing but sin can separate the soul 
from God. Oh ! when will sin be hated with a 
perfect hatred — when wilt thou, O God, reign 
over every thought, and every feeling, and every 
desire of my soul — Thou, and thou only for ever. 



2 Peter i. 16. — " We have not followed cunningly 
devised fables." — No, blessed be God, we have 
not, facts are before our eyes. Jesus Christ has 
died for our sins, and risen again for our justifica- 
tion ; he has gone into the heavens, and the mercy 
seat has been sprinkled with his blood ; he has 
opened to us a new and living way, through the 



144 REFLECTIONS. 

veil which has been rent from the top to the bot- 
tom, into the holiest of all — we have boldness, a 
holy confidence in the mercy of our God, through 
his own beloved Son. O my God, " thou wilt 
keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed 
on thee." IJ would ever trust simply to thine 
own promise ; weak and trembling in myself ; in 
Thee, — No ! not the wildest billow that rolls shall 
overwhelm me. " Remember, O Lord, the word 
unto thy servant, upon which thou hast caused me 
to hope." Am I not now coming to the bor- 
ders of the promised land, after being led of thee 
in thy faithfulness, many years in the wilderness ? 
O my Saviour, do not turn me back to wander 
again in the same for unbelief on my part — for 
want of faith to cross the river Jordan, and to go 
in and take possession. But, good Lord, in sick- 
ness, or in health, in joy, or in sorrow, may thy 
will be done, may thy name be glorified in and 
by me. 



Qfyt fottofomp; %int8 torn forittm on tty treat!) of 
Moortf £fyW, 1818. 

My God, I own thy sentence just 
Which lays my fondest hopes in dust ; 
I bow to the severe decreee, 
And yield my sweetest child to thee. 



POETRY. 145 

But very long my soul must mourn, 
My child from my embraces torn, 
And while it beats, my heart must feel, 
That she is gone I loved so well. 

Farewell, my Jane, my own sweet Jane, 
Nor sorrow thou, nor grief, nor pain, 
Shall ever know, my child, again. 
Nor needest thou thy mother there 
To dry thy tears, to soothe thy care. 

Safe lodged within thy Saviour's arms, 
Methinks I see thy infant charms, 
Oh thou art happy now and blest, 
Would I were with thee, and at rest. 



%\)t &«turortum Wonting. 

THE IDEA: 
AN ANGEL JUST AWAKING A SPIRIT FROM THE TOMB. 

Spirit, 

What is this calm holy dawning, 

These bright beams which round me play ? 

' Tis the resurrection morning, 
' Tis the dawn of endless day ; 
Child of immortality, 
Awake, arise, and come away. 

H 



146 POETRY. 

Spirit, 

Joy through every sense is thrilling, 

Strains seraphic meet mine ear, 

Glory all my soul is filling, 

Yet, oh, yet I linger here ; 

Midst yon glorious throng resplendent, 

Tell me, how shall I appear? 

Child of glory, heaven awaits thee, 
Joy is beaming on thy brow, 
Thou hast done with earthly feelings, 
Thou hast done with trembling now, 
Take this golden harp, and fearless 
Let thy strains of rapture flow. 

See these robes of pearly whiteness 
Sent thee by the King of kings, 
They are thine, with all their brightness 
Ransomed spirit, stretch thy wings : 
Join yon holy strain triumphant, 
Hark ! thro' heaven's expanse it rings, 

23otf) together as fyt% mount, 

Glory ! glory ! glory ! 
Glory ! to the King of kings. 



QlUxtti from jHoow^. 

Though life is all a fleeting show, 
For man's probation given ; 
The joys which from religion flow, 
Can gild the darkest hour of woe, 
And point the soul to heaven. 



POETRY. 147 



And though the light on glory's plume, 
Shall fade as hues of even ; 
Yet love, and joy, and beauty's bloom, 
Shall rise immortal from the tomb, 
And all beyond is heaven. 

Tlio' wanderers thro' a stormy day, 
Yet prospects bright are given 
And truth's mild beam, religious ray, 
Shall serve to light the troubled way, 
Which leads to bliss and heaven. 



Erne* atftre<&rt* to tije large Wtyiti Htb. 

All beauteous flower, thou art 
An emblem of what my heart 
Sighs evermore to be ; 
Sublime in thy simplicity, 
Glowing in bright sincerity, 
So passionless thy purity. 
I wish I were like thee ! 



Co a dfrtentr— Jte. 23—. 

Oh, tell me, hast thou ever known, 
One joy unmixed with sorrow ? 
The smiles on thy young cheek which shone, 
When youth's fond hopes were all thy own, 
Fled they not with the morrow ? 
H 2 



148 POETRY. 

And oh ! as years have speeded by, 
And earth's best joys have blest thee ; 
Say, does thy bosom own no sigh, 
Trembles no tear-drop in thine eye, 
At memory of days gone bye. 
Of friends who once caressed thee? 

And is there not some fond regret, 
Still in thy bosom nourished? 
For those thy heart can ne'er forget, 
For friendships recollected yet, 
Perhaps too fondly cherished? 

It must be so, and yet we prize 
Each momentary blessing ; 
As earnests of those brighter joys, 
Which wait our souls beyond the skies, 
Oh ! they are worth possessing. 

And welcome is the sacred tear, 
Affection's purest witness ; 
And to my inmost soul as dear, 
As aught that charms the spirit here, 
'Tis friendship all refined and clear, 
'Tis joy without its lightness. 

So, when thy form, so dearly loved, 
Whose friendship I so well have proved. 
No longer comes to cheer me ; 
Tho' joy around my soul may throw 
Her richest, brightest, warmest glow, 
One sacred silent tear shall flow, 
That thou'rt no longer near me. 



POETRY. 149 

What are all the joys of earth, 
Oh, my soul, how little worth ; 
Human life is full of trouble, 
Human joy is hut a bubble. 
Human words are not, when spoken ; 
Human bonds, how soon they're broken ; 
Human hopes, they too are vain, 
And hours gone bye ne'er come again ; 
And human tears too often prove, 
How fragile is the thing we love. 
Oh ! there is nothing here, 
Nothing but what must die ; 
Then turn thy ardent gaze, 
To brighter worlds on high. 



O Lord my God ! when thou art near 
No earthly grief is worth a tear ; 
And sorrow, bitter though it be, 
Wrings not the heart that rests in thee. 

Thy glory beaming on the soul 
Can every earthly care control ; 
As darkness flies at the first dawn, 
All beauteous, of a summer's morn. 

O Lord my God ! thy love shall be 
Brighter than summer suns to me, 
For summer suns, however bright, 
Withdraw their beams from coming night. 

Not so thy love, when sorrows come, 
Then, softly breaking through the gloom 
With more than wonted lustre bright 
It shines, and all around is light. 



150 POETRY. 

And all is peace, the soul is calm 
The wounded spirit finds a balm, 
A sacred joy amidst its woe 
Which only from thy love can flow. 

Then welcome every earthly woe, 
Which teaches me thy love to know ; 
That love so boundless, rich, and free, 
My portion through eternity. 



Hatut grayer comport! fcj> JWarj>, (Shtwn of §$cot$, 
j\x$t More tyv ermttuw. 

O Domine Deus, speravi in te ! 

O care mi Jesu, nunc libera me ! 

In dura catena, in misera poena, desidero te ! 

Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo, 

Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me ! 



A TRANSLATION. 

Oh God ! thou most high ! all my hope is in thee, 

Oh Jesu my Saviour ! now, now set me free. 

In bondage distressing, in grief ever pressing, 

I am pining for thee. 

All fainting and weeping, and prostrate before thee, 

In sighs I adore thee, in anguish implore thee, 

Speak only the word, and my soul shall be free. 

H. W. 



POETRY. 151 

Come, Holy Spirit, come, 

And fill this lonely breast ; 

Come fill my heart with love divine, 

And soothe my soul to rest. 

Bid earthly passions bend 
Before thy pure control, 
Come, purify my inmost thoughts, 
And sanctify my soul. 

Come with thy holy joy 

Thy peaceful deep repose, 

And lift my heart above the world, 

With all its joys and woes. 

Come with thy fire of love, 
That holy sacred flame ; 
Oh ! let it burn 'till all refined 
This sinking, dying frame. 

Burn till my soul become 

Pure as thy holy light ; 

Nor one unhallowed feeling quench, 

That flame so pure and bright. 

My God! it cannot be, — ■ 
To thy dear cross I haste, 
And at its foot with all her sins 
My trembling soul I cast. 

For oh ! it cannot be, 

Nor will be till that hour, 

When death's cold hand the soul shall free, 

From sin's polluting power. 



152 POETRY. 

Then spotless, pure and bright, 
Cleansed in the Saviour's blood, 
Shall nature's last expiring sigh, 
Breathe out the soul to God. 

Oh then, that flame shall burn 
For ever pure and bright, 
And all around, and all within, 
Be pure and blissful and serene, 
As heaven's own azure light. 



Jesus ! thou art the sinner's friend, 

Thou art his only plea, 

In thee for safety I depend, 

For life I look to thee ; 

Each other hope I cast aside, 

And cling to Jesus crucified. 

Sinful is all I am or have, 
Nothing can make me whole, 
Nothing but Jesu's blood can save 
My sin-polluted soul; 
Oh then! I trample on my pride, 
And fly to Jesus crucified. 

The world, with all its sinful charms, 

Shall never tempt me more, 

I'll think of all my Saviour's love, 

And tell his sufferings o'er ; 

'Tis then I tread on all beside, 

And love my Saviour crueified. 



POETRY. 153 

But yet my best resolves are weak. 

To thee, O Lord, I flee,, 

For ever fix my wandering heart, 

And bind my soul to thee ; 

Let nothing here my thoughts divide, 

But all my pleasure, all my pride, 

Be lost in Jesus crucified. 



WRITTEN IN ILLNESS. 

In all my restless weariness, 
My God, if thou art near me, 
My spirit feels no loneliness, 
Thy love alone can cheer me. 

Tho' many a night of watchfulness 
And painfulness be mine, 
Be thou my spirit's resting-place, 
And I need not repine. 

Pillowed upon thy bosom, Lord, 
Thy love thrown round my soul, 
My spirit almost rests in heaven, 
Tho' clouds around me roll. 

Thy love is the fair heritage 
To ransom'd spirits given, 
Thy spirit breathing thro' the soul 
For ever — this is heaven. 



154 POETRY. 



THE AGED PILGRIM. 

' Oh where dost thou come from, poor weary old man ? 

Oh, where is thy cottage, thy home ? ' 

' Ah ! Lady, no cottage on earth I call mine. 

No home for these limbs but the tomb. 

6 I have wander'd for many and many a mile, 
And I'm weary, and weak, and distress'd. 
Yet Lady, you need not compassionate me, 
Tho' on earth I have no place of rest/ 

1 Poor weary old man, I could weep over thee ; 

Yet say, does no hope cheer thy breast ? 

Dost thou think when beneath the green turf thou art laid, 

Thy soul with thy body will rest ? ' 

' No, Lady, Oh no ! the blest hour is at hand, 
When this spirit for ever set free, 
Shall soar to its mansion of bliss in the skies, 
To a home there, all purchased for me. 

4 Oh ! I never have wished for a home upon earth, 
Where joy is still mingled with pain ; 
Where the tints of the rainbow, tho' beauteous and bright, 
Only shine amid droppings of rain. 

' Oh ! I never have sought for a resting-place here, 
Where sin such defilement has spread, 
In a world which has lost and forsaken its God, 
And where all is — or dying, or dead. 

' There was one lovely flower — Oh ages are gone — 
Yes— I loved it, and watch'd as it grew ; 
All lovely and gentle its blossom unclosed — 
Then it wither d, and sunk from my view. 



POETRY. 155 

' My heart learned its lesson, and now then, I said. 
The thorn and the thistle may grow ; 
They "best suit a soil so polluted as this, 
No home upon earth will I know. 

' Dear Lady — look up, see that deep azure blue, 

Oh ! is it not peaceful and pure ? 

Oh ! does it not speak of eternal repose, 

Of a blessedness holy and sure ? 

' Oh lady ! dear lady ! my cottage is there, 

And there is my home and my rest, 

And now I just wait, till the hour shall come, 

When these poor wearied limbs may lie doAvn in the tomb, 

And my spirit in Jesus be blest.' 



%ttttx& to Pfotf &. 
LETTER I. 

When I received your very welcome letter, my 
very dear friend, I think nearly three weeks since, 
I intended nothing less than to have let it remain 
so long unanswered ; but so it is, weeks pass so 
insensibly away, each day bringing with it its full 
occupation, together with its own cares and anxie- 
ties, and I will add its own mercies too, that I 
seldom write to friends when I mean and wish to 



156 LETTERS. 

do it, and then have to take up time with apolo- 
gies. I will not do this now, but must assure you 
I was most happy to recognize your hand writing. 

I would commit the whole matter which you 
mention, with all my hopes and fears, into the 
hands of that God who alone knoweth what is 
best for his children, feeling assured that the be- 
loved child of my heart is in better hands than 
mine ; and more than content, that if it were need- 
ful for him, he should be disciplined and schooled 
by the same Almighty hand which has disci- 
plined the wayward heart of his mother, until at 
length she has learned in some little measure to say, 
" Father, not as I will, but as thou wilt." Of 
this I have long been sure, that a quiet submission 
to the will of God, robs sorrow of half its bitter- 
ness, and is the only becoming state of feeling for 
creatures so sinful, so weak, so little knowing even 
what would be for our earthly happiness ; and as to 
our eternal, oh, if we were left to our own way- 
ward wills, I believe we should take any road 
rather than that which would lead us to heaven. 

I am rejoiced to hear so very nice an account of 
dear Mrs. A — ; it must be quite edifying to all 
around her, to witness that meetness for glory you 
mention. Oh, how happy to feel that she has 
done with all below, that henceforth there is laid 
up for her a crown of righteousness, which the 
Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give her at that 



LETTERS. 157 

day. I often think there is a sweetness in the 
evening of life, a calm deep feeling of settled joy, 
which neither youth nor middle age can have an 
idea of, — no longer agitated by earthly hopes and 
fears, having learned at last to see every thing in 
its true light, and to see that trifles are trifles, and 
that only one object is vast enough, and grand 
enough to absorb and overwhelm every other. 
Have you never watched a fine setting sun, on a 
calm summer's eve ? Is not the golden, peaceful 
light just then shed all around, something far 
more beautiful, more touching than all the bril- 
liancy of the noon-day ? And is not this like 
what you feel when you look at your dear mother ? 
I almost envy her ; should I ever live to see her 
age, may my evening be as blest. 

I think I have nothing but mercies to tell you 
of, and yet my poor earthly heart will at times 
feel anxious. You know perhaps that it must be 
so, and can excuse me, and yet is it not our privi- 
lege to know that all things are ordered for us by 
infinite wisdom and infinite love, — and for the dear 
children too ? What abiding consolation is there 
in being able to cast all our care upon him, believ- 
ing that he careth for us. Oh, keep your eye 
steadily, fixedly, simply looking to Jesus, it will 
strength you to perform every duty in running 
the Christian race that is set before us. Just now 
I feel as if the winter was past, the rain over and 



158 LETTERS. 

gone ; as if the brightness of the sunshine that was 
about to cheer my latter end would make me for- 
get the sorrows that have been. But it is my 
best joy to be able to leave every thing with God. 
You too, my dear friend, I think, have had to learn 
this lesson. Oh, it is happy for us when we are 
enabled at last to turn away from all created good, 
and find the joy of the Lord to be our strength. 
" This is the will of God, even our sanctification." 
Can we sincerely pray that that will may be ac- 
complished in us ? Oh, my own prayers have 
often made me tremble. 

With much affection I remain, 

Your's very truly, 

H. W. 

Ckettle, 1835. 

LETTER II. 

My dear Friend, 
I am so glad to hear that you are beginning to 
gain strength after your severe illness, and I trust 
the amendment will go on until you can say " quite 
well." You must determine now, and summon all 
your resolution, not to mind yourself,' it seems an 
odd thing to say, but I have so often found it 
necessary to come to this. When therefore you feel 
nervous sensations of weakness, follow my prescrip- 
tion. I have had so much to do with weak nerv- 



LETTERS. 159 

ous people, and have myself suffered so much in 
this way, that I have learned how to prescribe as 
well as a doctor. Yes, my dear friend, it is good 
to be afflicted ; it is good, though " no chastening 
for the present is joyous, yet afterward it yieldeth 
the peaceable fruit of righteousness." Happy, 
happy those to whom chastening is thus blessed. 
The sinner brought home to his God, the child to 
the bosom of his Father, almost trembles to lift his 
head for a moment from that bosom, fearing even 
to look at that world which has heretofore in so 
many ways, (known only to the searcher of hearts,) 
drawn him away from his only true resting-place. 
He fears again to come in contact with influences, 
from which his soul has suffered, and would gladly 
remain in his peaceful chamber. Oh, I could 
quite enter into the mind of the recluse, but this 
is not religion. While we are in the world, daily 
duties are ours, from which we must not shrink ; 
and as returning health gives us power, we must 
" buckle on our armour, take up our cross, and 
follow Christ." These words have much occupied 
my mind of late. What do they mean, my dear 
friend? Which of us acts in this way ? Dear John 
has called my attention of late so much in all his 
letters to this point. What is true religion ? 
Which of us lives as true disciples of the Lord Jesus 
Christ ought to live? To know Christ in the 
power of his resurrection, is what my soul long- 



160 LETTERS. 

eth for more and more ; to have the whole body of 
sin crucified and buried with him in his grave ; and 
with him to rise again to newness of heart and life. 
I am convinced that Christians are too content 
with their own shortcomings ; too apt, if I may 
venture to say so, to stop short at the doctrine of 
the atonement. Do not mistake me. I full well 
know that this doctrine is the foundation, the 
grand doctrine upon which all the superstructure 
rests : — but the resurrection to eternal life, for is 
not eternal life already begun in the soul ? — this 
is religion : ll Because I live ye shall live also." 
" If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those 
things which are above, where Christ sitteth on 
the right hand of God," &c. Tell me when you 
write again, if you agree with me ; read in ' The 
Christian Year,' the seventeenth and eighteenth 
Sundays after Trinity, and mark that verse be- 
ginning — 

' If while around thee,' 

and that — 

' Lord, wave again thy chastening rod.' 

But I must turn to subjects now of a different 
kind, yet deeply interesting to us both. I quite 
agree with you in all your remarks on the ap- 
proaching marriage of your dear much-loved niece, 
with my own dear John, and all that Mr. D. says 
on the subject. You know how perfectly satisfied 



LETTERS. 161 

I have been, and shall ever be with his decisions. 
John tells me he looked at a house at Cambridge, 
where he might live as the Vicar of Madingly, and 
which Mr. D — expressed his approbation of. This 
was very pleasing. I love the name of Madingly, 
and wish it had been a better living, or rather 
could wish so, that there they might have pitched 
their tent for years. I rather think that the same 
living in Lincolnshire which was offered to John some 
time ago, will soon be at his option again. We heard 
from dearest E — a few days since, she gave a good 
account of your dear Mother, but not a very good 
one of herself, she had a cold again ; she should 
take great care of herself. 

Give my best regards to all, 

And believe me ever your 

affectionate friend, 

H. W. 

Chettle. 1837. 



LETTER III. 

CJe following better foaS fouttm to ffli&# iB , 

fojen past ail fyope of recooerp. 

My own dear E. 
I know not how to tell you, my beloved child, 
how grieved I am to find that you are no better, 
but rather suffering more from weakness and 



162 LETTERS. 

cough, My first feeling and the wish of my heart 
is to come and assist in nursing you ; but this I 
am unable to do from the very declining state of 
my own health. I do long to be with you so very 
much. You know not half how I love you, and 
how very necessary you seem to have become to 
my heart. Oh, my child, my dearly-loved child ! 
I know you are in the hands of a father so merci- 
ful, so tender, so good, so faithful and true, that I 
try to commit you altogether to his love and ten- 
der care ; and this is my only consolation, for you 
are his own child. Long since you were enabled 
through grace to choose him for your inheritance, 
and to give up a vain perishing world, and he will 
not forsake you now. Oh no, it cannot be, sooner 
far shall heaven and earth pass away than his faith- 
fulness shall fail. His own everlasting arm of 
love shall support you. Oh, my child ! commit 
yourself altogether to him for time and eternity. 
You are as safe as the promises of God can make 
you, redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ, every 
sin blotted out from the book of God's remem- 
brance for ever, a glorious inheritance, and that 
fadeth not away, among the saints in glory, pur- 
chased for you, and which, sooner or later, 
awaits you. You have nothing now, my dear 
child, to disturb your peace of mind, just quietly 
then give yourself up into his hands , who loves you 
better than any earthly friend can, and let not 



LETTERS. 163 

make you anxious. Oh, I could earnestly pray 
that he may yet prolong your life ; you know it is 
nothing to him " to save by many or by few," 
and though you are now so weak, he can raise 
you up again and restore you to strength, if 
such be his blessed will. I know, my dearest 
child, what is now your greatest trial, as well 
as_if you told me. Oh yes, and I know how 
earthly love does chain the soul down to earth, 
and will not let it go, but God can and will bless 
this, even this trial to you. Commit every thing, 
yourself, your dear J— — and every thing that 
concerns either of you, just quietly into the hands 
of your almighty, all-merciful God and Saviour, 
and there leave them. Oh, he will do more for 
you than either you can ask or think. He will, 

dear E . He will, do not fear. Only put 

your whole trust in him — look up to him with per- 
fect and affectionate confidence, — remember his 
own immutable promises, '• Call upon me in the 
day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt 
glorify me." Oh, he never yet disappointed the 
hopes of one who leant upon him. Your dear fa- 
ther can testify to you of his faithfulness and truth, 
for he has experienced them. Give him my most 
affectionate regards, with many thanks for his 

letter. Dearest, dearest E , I will write to 

you again soon, do not try to write to me, I know 
you must not attempt it ; send me a message, and 



164 LETTERS. 

tell whichever of your sisters writes to me, to tell 
it me in your own exact words. 

Ever and ever, your's most affectionately, 

H.W. 

Chettle, 1837. 



LETTER IV. 

My dearest Friend, 
I scarce know how to write to you, and yet ivish 
to write. All is well, yes I know it, — but such a 
weight is on my heart day and night, that silence 
suits me best. I love to sit alone and keep silence. 
It is the Lord, and may his will be done. You 
know how truly I loved her. She was to me as 
my very own. There was something to me so 
affecting in her character, in the unreserved man- 
ner in which she was attached to my poor dear 
son, something about her so sweet, so unearthly, 
that I never thought of her but with a love and 
tenderness I could not express, — and she is gone — 
true, I know her pure spirit is in the midst of 
those joys which eye hath not seen nor ear heard ; 
I would not recal her to this world of pain, 
yet I feel every moment she is no longer here : 
she no longer breathes and lives, and moves in this 
world, and then, in a moment, my thoughts turn 
to my own dear son, and I am deeply affected. 



LETTERS. 165 

Yet do not mistake me ; no, my dear friend, do 
not think that, for one short moment, I doubt the 
love of God. In all that has, in all that ever shall 
befal me or mine, I own a Father's hand, I see 
a Father's love. My fond affection would fain have 
shielded him I love so dearly from such a sorroiv ; 
but God has taken him out of my hands, from my 
management, and has undertaken himself now to 
train his child for his own immediate presence. / 
give way in thankful, adoring, weeping silence. I 
wish you could read his letters. Oh ! my God, 
sustain him, for it is a painful triumph. He says, 
" we parted with prayer, and we shall meet again 
with praise." She said to him in the prospect of 
death, " It is only for a little while," and he 
adds, " No, it will be only for a little while ;" but, 
bitter as has been the cup presented to him by his 
Father's hand, has there not been much of mercy ? 
We must not forget this : I see much of mercy 
and love in the whole, and he will see this more 
by and bye. My dear friend, I can write on no 
other subject — do you wonder? No ! neither will 
you be surprized to hear, that my own health 
seems to be rapidly declining. I do not yet know 
whether I shall leave Chettle for the coming 
winter. I desire to have no will of my own. May 
the will of God be done, be that will what it 
may. 

Tell dear S — — how much I feel for her. Oh ! 



166 LETTERS. 

how many tears she must have shed for her dear 
sister, but she is in heaven. Will she not follow 
her there ? Tell her not to try to forget that last 
sad day ; but often, very often, to retire into her 
own room, and there, alone with God, call to 
mind, the example, the gentleness, the love, the 
self-denying patience, all the Christian graces 
which shone so sweetly and so brightly, in her 
dear departed sister, and then beg for grace to 
follow her footsteps as she followed Christ. And 
now, my dear friend, what shall I say more ? this 
is but a pilgrimage, a school in which we must 
meet with discipline, and if it must needs be severe, 
it is yet in mercy, the tenderest mercy ; and the 
time will come, when we shall bless our heavenly 
Father for every tear we have shed. Oh, my 
friend ! how painful now will be our meeting; but, 
no, we will not weep, but rejoice. 

Ever your attached friend, 

H.W. 

CJiettle, 1837. 



For him no more the violet sweet, 
Breathes in spring's earliest gales, 

For him no more the summer sun 
Shines fair in Rushmore vales. 



POETRY. 167 

And yet the primrose is as fair, 

And the violet is as blue ; 
And the sun shines fair in those lovely vales, 

As it was wont to do. 

But not for him — the spring may smile, 
And the sweetest spring-flowers blow ; 

They're withered all — those joys which once 
Taught his young heart to glow. 

Well, let them go ! and if sometimes 

Remembrances too dear, 
Wring from that bosom the deep sigh, 

From that blue eye the tear. 

My child ! my child ! oh turn above 

To him who bled for thee ; 
Oh turn from every earthly thought 

And gaze on Calvary. 

Yes, gaze on him, who all alone, 

His weary pathway trod ; 
Alone his cup of suffering took, 

Gaze on thy dying God. 

Gaze till thy throbbing heart is still, 

And dried the scalding tear, 
Till all thy soul absorbed in God, 

Loses its sorrows there. 



168 LETTERS. 



LETTER V. 

My dear Friend, 
I feel that I ought to have replied long since to 
your last, but as you know the state of my health 
now, you will have excused me, and not for one 
moment have thought me forgetful of you. No, 
you are too nearly connected with her, who was 
so dear to me, ever to be forgotten by me. Weeks 
have rapidly passed away ; two months are gone 
since those eyes closed on all here, since that heart 
ceased to beat, which was all tenderness and truth. 
Each day, as I think it all over, I weep afresh ; 
yet, oh yet, I would not recal her ; there is some- 
thing so sacred, so sad, that mixes with every 
remembrance of the dear sainted child of God. 
No, I would not, for the sake even of him who is 
dear to me as my own soul, I would not call her 
from her blessedness, to walk through this vale of 
tears again — even with him. And what shall I 
tell you of him, as you kindly desire me to do so, 
without reserve ? He has visited us at length, 
calm, peaceful as ever ; at first, you do not per- 
ceive the inward struggle of his mind, but I found 
him often retiring to his own room, and there, in 
bitter tears, sometimes almost overwhelmed with 
sorrow ; and, since he has left us for Cambridge, 
he writes, f Did I not remember and feel that I 






LETTERS. 169 

am a stranger and a pilgrim on earth, that " I have 
no owner's part in all this fleetingness," I could 
scarcely moderate my feelings,' yet his letters 
breathe a spirit of sweet resignation, and with a 
true heart he turns to God in Jesus Christ, and in 
Him, and only in Him, finds that which can for 
one moment stay his soul. To labour in his divine 
master's vineyard is all, he feels, that is now worth 
living for : may God give him to feel in this a hap- 
piness, which perhaps is greater than any other 
on earth. Pray for him, my dear friend, that God 
will strengthen and uphold him in no common 
manner. 

Do give my best remembrances to dear Mrs, 
A — : does she yet remember me ? we shall meet 
before very long, tell her, in that bright world 
where tears do not flow, and there — yes, before 
Jehovah's throne, shall I meet the dear departed 
E — , who was as dear to me as my very own child. 
It must be a very anxious time for you now, 
watching daily the closing of your dear mother's 
earthly life; may you be supported and strength- 
ened, and carried peacefully through every trying 
scene which may yet await you. Oh, what weak 
tremblers we are in ourselves, but strong in Him, 
who is our life — " out of weakness made strong" 
Ever your affectionate friend, 

H. W, 

Qeffle y im. 

I 



170 LETTERS. 



Cf)t following 3£etter£, written to i;er J*>on, untttr t\)t 
foregoing circumstance of peculiar trial antf affliction, 
luill fce rcatr, it is; oelieueo', wit!) Seep interest. 

LETTER I. 

My dearest John, 

I know how to appreciate the affection which 
has led you to write in the midst of affliction like 
yours. Your letters always gave me pleasure, and 
ever will, while it shall please God to prolong my 
life upon the earth ; and though now I weep as I 
read them, yet I would not but so read and 
weep. 

The deep solemnity of your mind under your 
great, very great bereavement, I cannot be sur- 
prised at. You never saw death before, with all 
its sad, sad appendages. It is an appalling sight, 
and what must have been your feelings as you 
looked upon the pale, cold, altered countenance 
of dear E — , to whom you had been so long, and 
so tenderly attached. What a depth of affliction 
is yours ! your contemplated marriage is turned 
into a funeral. Oh ! my child, I can scarcely bear 
to think of you in sorrow like this — no common 
sorrow. It deeply affects a fondly-attached 
mother's heart. We are all weeping with you — all 
joy is at an end ; no sound of pleasure is heard in 



LETTERS. 171 

our dwelling — every eye is in tears — every heart 
is very, very sad. It must, indeed, have shaken 
every fibre of your sorrowful trembling heart, 
when, as you sought retirement on the morning of 
the funeral, to mourn your loss, and to lift up your 
heart to God, the first sound of the church bell 
fell suddenly on your ear. I can enter into the 
ten thousand feelings which you name not, that 
must then have rushed into your distressed mind ; 
but you say,after the first shock was over, you could 
listen to its slowly -repeated solemn note, summoning 
the mournful procession to the grave, with some 
degree, at least, of calm resignation ; and that, 
amidst the multitude of thoughts, and tumultuous 
feelings of your heart, the desire of that heart was, 
to be still, and to know that it was in very faith- 
fulness and mercy that God had so afflicted you. 
I am truly thankful to my heavenly Father for 
this. He, who has so deeply wounded, will heal ; 
and it is when calling upon Him out of the depths 
of affliction, that we experimentally find, that there 
is a divine reality in his word of promise — that 
** God is a refuge and strength, a very present help 
in trouble." I well know, my dear valued child, 
that it is not the first few days of affliction like 
yours that are the worst ; as one remembrance 
therefore after another returns, tending to fill your 
mind with sadness, turn again and again to Him, 
who has power in his hand, and compassion in his 
I 2 



172 LETTERS. 

heart, to bind up your broken spirit. Trust Him 
in his faithfulness — rely upon his promises — be- 
lieve his own declaration, that he does not willingly 
afflict the children of men. For purposes at pre- 
sent not known, this frowning Providence hangs 
over you — but eternity will unfold to you that this 
sore affliction has befallen you in tender mercy, 
and is of the loving-kindness of the Lord. It is 
not a mother's hand that can now wipe away your 
tears : how would I hasten to do so if I could ; 
and what does this teach me ? It is a heavenly 
Father's hand that can — a Father " too wise to 
err, too good to be unkind." Then " cast your 
burden on the Lord, and he shall sustain thee." I 
can write no more — may God himself be very near 
to you, bless, support, and strengthen you. 

Ever and ever your affectionate mother, 

H. W. 

Cheffle, 1837. 

LETTER II. 

No, my affectionate child, you will not make 
me ill, by relating to me the sorrows of your heart 
— do not be afraid of that — write again whenever 
you can, and unburden your whole weight of 
affliction to your sympathising mother. I can 
easily believe that you cannot yet half realize the 
fact, that dear E is gone, and that when you 



LETTERS. 173 

think thereupon, all seems vague and indefinite — 
but how full of comfort to know that the dear de- 
ceased was prepared, and made meet in Jesus for 
that world, where pain and sorrow and separation 
are not known. Though often trembling, she 
clung only to the cross of Christ — here her only 
hope was fixed for an eternal world, and she has 
not been disappointed in that hope. It is realized 
in the presence of her Saviour. Her dying ex- 
pression to a sorrowing sister was, ' Do not weep 
for me, I trust I am pardoned — I am looking at 
the cross.' — Full well I know, nothing else will do 
to look at, but a crucified, risen Redeemer, when 
the shades of death are gathering round our pillow. 
There is a peace, a joy, a support, in the contem- 
plation of His redeeming love, which nothing else 
can give. Oh ! fix your heart upon it — realize it — 
meditate upon it on your knees. Why did Jesus 
weep at the grave of Lazarus ? Was it not much, 
because his own knew so little of his love — be- 
lieved so little — relied so little on his tenderness 
and power — and had so little faith in Him ? May 
God himself teach you more and more of that 
love, which passeth knowledge, which raises the 
affections from the earth to things above, where 
Christ sitteth on the throne in the heavens. 
David could say — " My soul is even as a weaned 
child;" but just think, what he must have suffered, 
before he could declare this. Deep had so called 



174 LETTERS. 

unto deep, that in the succession of his troubles, he 
had been led to acknowledge, " All thy waves and 
thy billows are gone over me." To give up happi- 
ness, however, at once, which we have so long looked 
forward to, is, indeed, a lesson very hard to learn; 
it is too much for human nature ; yes, it is too 
much for human nature, but God can, and will 
give strength and grace, — wow therefore is the time 
for you to finish your lesson, by taking refuge in 
the love of Christ. In the storms of time, there is 
no billow on which the soul of man can rest, and 
rock itself to sleep, as the petrel on the wave — but 
there is consolation in reposing with all our cares 
and sorrows on the bosom of the Redeemer, the 
rock of ages. Seek then, my afflicted child, 
repose there. Was it not when the Dove could 
find no resting-place for the sole of her foot, in a 
deluged world, that she returned to the ark I 
And, when we find no resting-place for our wearied 
souls on earth, because the deep floods have 
covered every place where once our hearts de- 
lighted to dwell, is it not then, that our desires and 
affections take the wings of a dove, and seek 
shelter in Jesus Christ, and find in Him a better, 
sweeter rest, than earth could ever have given ? 
There is a communication from His Spirit to ours, 
which we feel is true — but as the " wind bloweth 
where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, 
but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither 



LETTERS. 175 

it goeth : so is every one that is born of the Spirit.'* 
John iii. 8. Then dry your tears, keep up a con- 
stant correspondence with the throne of grace, and 
the throne of mercy by prayer, and believe that all 
is well. Dear Catharine wished to go to Blandford 
this morning, and on my observing that the clouds 
looked dark and rainy over head, she replied, 
' never look there, it is as bright as possible in the 
horizon.' Clouds may hang over us, yet there is 
a bright horizon, — 

' But catch a gleam beyond it, and His bliss.' 

Your affectionate Mother, 

H.W, 

Chettle, 1837. 



LETTER III. 

My dearest Son, 
I fully expected a letter from you to-day, and I 
have not been disappointed ; I knew well how feel- 
ings would return with your return to Cambridge, 
and thought it might be some relief to you, to 
write to your mother. Oh ! my child, God knew 
the full bitterness of the cup he gave you to drink. 
You took it at his hand, and patiently drank it 
up. When an earthly physician administers a 
much stronger medicine than is customary, does he 
not anxiously wait its effects upon his patient? 
Does he not take care to sustain his strength the 



176 LETTERS. 

while? and does he not expect that the result 
will be most beneficial for years and years ? The 
remedy administered by the heavenly physician is 
never to be forgotten. It has cut the cord, which 
bound, perhaps, your affections too much to earth. 
I know that on earth there seems not now one 
green spot which can attract you. No sun shining 
brightly in Rushmore Yales now cheers the heart 
— all the fond pleasing anticipations of life seem 
at an end. I have been led of late to realize 
more fully the shadowy nature of all sublunary 
things ; so much so, that it makes me almost, 
should I not say, quite content, that you, my heart's 
best treasure, should " have no owner s part in all 
this fleetingness ." No ! heaven is our home — there 9 
there in our Father's house, we shall meet through 
the blood-shedding and righteousness of our great 
High Priest, to part no more : take courage, then, 
my dear son, dry the tear, and look beyond the 
cold, cold grave — gird up thyself afresh, and on- 
ward press for heaven. You are, indeed, a stranger 
and a pilgrim on the earth — read Heb. xi. 13 — 16 ; 
dwell on these verses, you see you are not alone ; 
think, till joy inexpressible brightens your coun- 
tenance over the 16th verse; it is time, it is 
indeed time to do so. Has God chosen you for 
himself, a vessel that He is sanctifying, and mak- 
ing meet for the master's use, and shall not thy 
soul bless him ? Call to your recollection, how 



LETTERS. 177 

jealous God was over those golden vessels which 
were in His temple, and which had been conse- 
crated to His service — and think also of Him, who 
was made perfect through sufferings ; " who, for 
the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross? 
despising the shame." It is only as we look intently 
at things not seen, that we can live on } forgetting 
(in one sense) those things which are behind, and 
reaching forward to those eternal glories which are 
reserved in heaven for those, who, by the power of 
God are kept through faith unto salvation. Read 
again the 1 Peter i, to 9th verse, and let it be as 
food and strength to your soul: but I wish you so 
very much to take the Epistle to the Hebrews, as 
your peculiar study just now. There is so much 
in this Epistle that is wonderful — so much that is 
calculated to lift our minds and hearts to that 
heaven, where our great High Priest appeareth 
in the presence of God for us, especially in those 
three chapters, the viiith, ixth, and xth — my mind 
has been dwelling on them principally of late, until 
I think, I never before had so full a view of that 
new and living way, which he has consecrated 
through the veil, that is to say, his flesh. How 
beautiful the emblem : The veil, which was rent 
from top to the bottom when he gave up his spirit, 
and which veil, till that moment, had darkened the 
way into the holiest of all, is drawn aside for ever. 
The kingdom of heaven is now open to all believers 
I 5 



178 LETTERS. 

in his Divine name. Our hope in Christ is sure 
and stedfast. It is the soul's anchor — the soul's 
safe refuge — and he that hath this hope purifieth 
himself even as he is pure. Go forth, then, re- 
deemed soul, and shew forth the praises of him 
who hath called you out of darkness to walk in 
the light of his salvation* God ever bless you, my 
dear John. 

Your affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1837. 



LETTER IV. 

My affectionate Son, 
I have been thinking, if to-day is as fine in 
Cambridgeshire as. it is in Dorsetshire, the air as 
fine and mild, and the sun shining as brightly, it 
will tend much to cheer your spirits ; and though 
the sun, as you observe, is but a trifle, a shining 
star, whose glory is soon to be put out, yet it 
brightens and exhilarates us in the journey of our 
life. We enjoy its bright beams with thankful- 
ness, whilst we would ever seek the beams of light 
and the heavenly influence of the only true sun, 
whose brightness will cheer and quicken our souls 
more and more for ever. If the slight and faint 
glimmering of his beams so fill the soul now, as to 



LETTERS. 179 

throw into darkness every thing else, what will be 
our state soon ? 

' The eye in smiles may wander round, 
Caught by earth's shadows as they fleet ; 
But for the soul no help is found, 
Save him who made it meet.' 

Do not words fail to express any degree of that 
thankfulness, which we ought to feel as creatures 
who are aware of their miseries, and aware of the 
remedy ? The grand knowledge (as Pascal says) 
is this, " to know our own corruption and our 
redemption by Jesus Christ." Oh, yes, it is indeed 
a mercy beyond our power of thought to reach, to 
have been awakened by any means to a true sense 
of our real state, and to have a good hope that we 
are redeemed creatures, redeemed to God by the 
blood of his own Son, redeemed from the power 
of sin and Satan, redeemed from all fear of the 
awful realities before us ; then this world's sorrows 
and sufferings are comparatively nothing. Your 
description of the moon rising behind a dark cloud, 
as you were travelling the other night, pleases me 
much. The cloud, however, was tinged with glo- 
rious hues, and told plainly enough what was 
behind. We may indeed look on death as a dark 
black cloud, but when illuminated with but a few 
bright beams from the heaven beyond it, we caii 
only wish it passed, that the eternal light may 
shine in upon our souls. Oh, yes, glorious indeed 



180 LETTERS. 

are the hues which gild our horizon ; bright the 
prospect which unfolds itself to the eye of faith ; I 
wonder more and more, how any one can live on 
without this hope ; earth's best joys are in reality 
nothing, very few persons experience much satis- 
faction in them. There seems to me to be no 
legitimate source of joy to an unrenewed mind. I 
have been dwelling much lately on that short par- 
able. " The kingdom of heaven is like unto a 
merchant-man seeking goodly pearls, who when he 
had found one pearl of great price, sold all he had, 
and bought that pearl ; " and you too, just think, 
are content to give up all for the sake of this 
pearl. Blessed art thou, my child, for may I not 
say, " Flesh and blood have not revealed it unto 
thee, but thy Father which is in heaven." Nothing 
short of this could have sustained and soothed your 
mind amid the wreck of all your earthly hopes ; 
and how thankful I am to hear you say, that you 
never read the Scriptures as you do now ; that 
before this sore affliction, none of that reality was 
thrown over the great things of divine truth that 
is now in your mind. Now you see more clearly 
that a Saviour's dying love is the one great object. 
Now all is seen and felt a reality ; a thick fog seems 
clearing away, and by God's infinite mercy and 
teaching, you will see continually more and more, 
that every thing else is but of little worth, com- 
pared with the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord. 



LETTERS. 181 

Tell me whether you have not found hidden trea- 
sure, as you proceed in reading through the Epistle 
to the Hebrews, and bless God with exceeding joy. 
2 Cor. iv. 6. 

Your truly affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

CkeMle, 1837. 



LETTER V. 

My dear John, 

I see you are alarmed on account of my illness, 
and say, * my next loss will be the loss of my 
dearest Mother? It is true that the malady which 
afflicts me, is of a serious nature ; I feel it to be 
such ; God bless thee for all thy sweet affection, 
my dear child. I am perfectly calm in the pros- 
pect of all that is before me. He who has put 
this cup into my hand, sees that I receive it at His 
hand with cheerful acquiescence. Blessed be my 
heavenly Father, it is he who enables me to feel 
this, and he will himself be present with me in 
every hour of trial ; for an hour of trial it is, to 
pass through as I have now to do, the heavy bur- 
den of my complaint. 

I have been thinking this morning, that I would 
not, if I could, have the coming realities stripped 
of one atom of their awfulness. The thought of 



182 LETTERS. 

the judgment day, with all its grandeur and dread 
magnificence, is just what we want. From a child 
I always liked to have something to look forward 
to of sufficient importance ; now it is only to real- 
ize eternal things, to look through the shadows of 
time, to bring near to our souls the resurrection 
morning, and the all connected with that thought, 
and then, earthly anxieties, and losses, and pains, 
and tears, what are they ? " not worthy to be 
compared with the glory that shall be revealed." 
Oh, that all the days I may yet have to live here, 
may be spent to the praise and glory of my Lord 
and Saviour. This, this surely, is the only object, 
worthy of all the powers of an immortal being. 
But then, how can I, weak and afflicted as I am, 
a poor dying creature ; how can I live to the glory 
of God ? David has taught me, " Let the words 
of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, be 
acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and 
my Redeemer." 

The time is drawing near, when you will give 
up Madingly, presented to you by the Bishop of 
Ely in so gratifying a way, for the College living of 
Wrawby. It is an important change in your life, 
and affords matter for serious reflection. I know you 
have been kindly attentive to the poor, and anxious 
for the instruction of their children, but have you 
fully preached Jesus Christ, the sinner's refuge 
from the wrath to come, the only way of salvation 



LETTERS. 183 

for lost sinful man 1 has He been the sum and sub- 
stance of your Ministry ? n There is no other 
name under heaven given among men whereby we 
can be saved ;" give that last word all its mean- 
ing. I quite agree with all your remarks upon 
that poor dying woman, may she be sincere before 
God : of such characters we can but hope ; a deep 
feeling of sin, is the surest mark of a sound con- 
version of heart to God. It is the Holy Spirit's 
first work on the soul to convince of sin, and then 
to testify of Jesus. I give very little heed to ex- 
pressions of peace and happiness - on a dying bed, 
when there is not this ; and if there is, and the 
sinner, deeply humbled, flees to Jesus Christ, to 
the fountain opened for sin, it is not for us to 
doubt his own promise. He never turned away 
his ear from one suppliant for mercy, when upon 
earth, and will he now ? Though changed in place, 
he is not in nature, He is the same compassion- 
ate Saviour still, " able and willing to save to the 
very uttermost all who come unto God by him." 
Yes, one stage after another of our life passes 
rapidly by, and many important stages of yours 
are gone, and have taken their place in the records 
of eternity. O may God ever guide you, and 
bless you, in all the changing circumstances of 
your life, till at length he bring you to his ever- 
lasting kingdom. 

Your ever affectionate Mother, 

Chettte, 1837. H. W. 



184 LETTERS. 

LETTER VI. 

My very dear John, 
What a strange thing is life — what a strange 
medley the human heart — -what a mixture of 
good and ill, mercies and sorrows make up the 
whole. I wish I could tell you half the thoughts 
which during the last fortnight of weakness and 
pain have refreshed my soul ; — but amidst all the 
restlessness occasioned by weakness, and the throb- 
bings of heart and brain, one thought, and only 
one, has power to quiet it all, — it is this,- — that it 
is not possible that one soul can perish for whom 
Christ died — and again and again has that verse 
presented itself to my mind — 

'Jesus, our kinsman, and onr God, 
Arrayed in majesty and blood.' 

Oh ! to be brought to the cross of Jesus Christ- 
there to see blotted out for ever, the hand-writing 
that was against us ; to hear the voice of promise, 
" I will come again and receive you unto myself ; 
that where I am, there ye may be also." John xiv. 
3. Then, with every power of the soul renewed 
shall the redeemed walk forth with Jesus Christ 
from the grave as "freed men' He only knows 
what it cost to redeem one soul — He only knew 
the full meaning of those words — " It is finished" 
He finished his work, and ascended up into glory — • 
but he has not left us without help in this vale of 



LETTERS, 185 

tears ; He sends down the Holy Spirit to testify 
to us of his finished salvation — the Sanctifier — * 
the Purifier, — the Comforter. John xiv. 16 — 18. 
With regard to prayer, your feelings are my own. 
I constantly address the three Persons, separately, 
then Jehovah as a triune God. I am persuaded, 
the Spirit teaches us this ; and our own Church 
too, most scripturally. I constantly use those 
four first addresses in the Litany, in my own 
prayers. What a privilege is prayer ! a worm to 
be permitted to speak to God — yea more, to plead 
with God and to prevail ; and I feel too, more 
than ever, that unless we plead the righteousness 
of Christ, as well as his blood in our behalf, we 
cannot feel abiding peace. 

Yes, my own dear son, I am willing that every 
means should be used to prolong a life, a little 
longer, which you say, is so much wanted for my 
children, and especially by yourself. Is it not 

very kind of Mr. and Mrs. S , on their return 

to London, to give us a residence at Langton 
Lodge for a few months, in the hope that the 
change of air may prove beneficial to my health ? 
but I would look on every house as an inn, in 
which to stay but for a little while. We have no 
abiding city here. The autumn is again returned, 
and the leaves are falling fast, and I like to watch 
them, as they fall — they awaken in my mind, 
thoughts that are pleasing to me now, 



186 LETTERS. 

To-day is very rough and stormy, and the storms 
keep passing over, but the heavens above are clear 
and bright, and the deep blue sky speaks of peace 
and calm repose. But God, who is ordering all 
things well for me, knows best the time when the 
" weary wheels of life shall stand still." Blessed be 
His name, the sting of death is taken away, by my 
looking forward to that eternal day, when all shall 
be bright and clear for ever — no sun need shine 
there, for " the glory of God shall lighten it, and 
the Lamb is the light thereof." God bless you. 
Ever your affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Langton Lodge, 1837. 



LETTER VII. 

Yes, my very dear son, a few more tears — a 
little more conflict in this fallen, disordered world, 
and our spirits, freed from their earthly chain, shall 
be clothed with immortality. 

' Oil ! come that day, 
"When in this restless heart, 
Earth shall resign her part. 

I have suffered much from inflammation in the 
chest, since I wrote last, and should have written 
sooner, but was in too much pain to think. It 
seemed to me all the time I was suffering, that 



LETTERS. 187 

there were only two words that were worth the 
saying — Jesus Christ. Oh ! what do these words 
convey to the soul that has been awakened, and 
has fled for refuge there. Oh, what a happiness 
it is to " live by faith on the Son of God " — but 
what a discovery — what an amazing truth. How 
can one so young as you are, have been taught such 
a happiness ? — a happiness altogether foreign to 
our nature — a happiness altogether independent of 
every earthly circumstance — of place — of every 
thing but God. Why God himself, my son, has 
taught you ; then grudge not the means. 

' Oh ! grudge not thou the anguish keen, 
Which makes thee like thy Lord.' 

What ! though he has permitted sorrows to befal 
you, which few, very few, I believe, have tasted 
in such bitter fulness, yet has he not drawn you 
gently in the midst of the waves, closer to himself, 
and constrained you to rest more simply on His 
word ? My dear son, I must rejoice for you while I 
weep ; and surely one who has looked into eternity 
through such a vista as you have done, must look at 
every earthly thing for ever after, differently indeed 
from other men. ' Affliction,' as Erskine says, 
* is a great realizer in religion, or rather a great 
detector of the want of reality in religion. We 
perhaps thought ourselves Christians, and that we 
were founded on the rock, and now an affliction 



188 LETTERS. 

comes, and we shake like aspen leaves ; could this 
be if we were really on the rock ? Vv T e thought 
fondly that God was the chosen portion of our 
souls, and that though all created things were 
taken from us, we had enough when we had. Him ; 
and yet when He crosses some desire of our hearts, 
or removes some of his own gifts — one affectionately 
dear to us — a friend perhaps — or even a little of 
the world's trash, we seem as if we had lost our all, 
and cry after it, as that Danite did after his idols ; 
and thus we learn the fact, that our comfort before 
did not, as we idly supposed, flow from the eternal 
fountain, (for that still remains to us,) but had 
been drawn from perishing cisterns ; and therefore, 
now that they are broken, we die of thirst. This 
is an important discovery, and it was to make this 
discovery to us that God sent the affliction.' I re- 
member well, how for almost thirty years, (the 
best part of my earthly life,) your welfare, your 
happiness, has been the dearest theme on which 
my thoughts have delighted to dwell — all the 
golden visions — the romantic dreams of early 
life were contented to centre in you, from your 
infancy, the hope and joy of my heart; and 
now, how have all these dreams ended? What 
shall I say ? What, but thank God in silent ador- 
ing praise, for He hath done all things well. 
Has he not preserved your life to me this many a 
long year ? and now, has He not fulfilled my best 



LETTERS. 189 

wishes — granted my best prayers ? — my own life 
may be drawing to a close, but I have lived to see, 
that " though trouble and heaviness have taken 
hold upon you, yet your delight is in the com- 
mandments of the Lord " — and to feel assured, 
that he whom I have so loved here, shall indeed 
join me ere long, in the mansions above, and I 
am content. Oh, if tears were shed in heaven, 
surely one tear would fall, of purest joy, when we 
meet there, if there be a recognition of each other, 
before the throne of our Redeemer. Dear E — — , 
too, shall we not together wait your coming, to 
join in the hallelujahs to His glorious name ? — 
but you, my dear son, to the world must turn 
again — you have much to do yet for your Saviour, 
and may many a soul be given you in your minis- 
try — may you teach many poor perishing sinners, 
what a Saviour has done for them, that they may 
" lay hold of everlasting life " and escape the 
wrath to come. This is worth living for — worth 
turning again to earth for, and mingling with our 
fellow men. The Lord of life, even He himself 
took upon him our nature, and tabernacled with 
men for the very same purpose. God bless you. 
Ever your affectionate mother, 
H. W. 

Langton Lodge, 1837. 



190 LETTERS. 



LETTER VIII. 

My dearest Son, 
Most thankful was I to hear that you had 
reached Wrawby in safety, and were tolerably 
comfortable in your own Vicarage-house. Does 
it seem real to you ? I think nothing seems strange 
or extraordinary to us as we get more accustomed 
to life and its changes. It is all poor insipid work, 
without the Christian hope ; but with it, life wears 
a different aspect. Now, we have a motive, every 
action becomes important — as George Herbert 
says, — * even the sweeping of a room may be a 
fine action ' — and most assuredly every action 
leaves its own impression on the spirit of our mind, 
and therefore in this sense is important ; — and does 
not the hope which we have in Christ Jesus throw 
a brightness round every step of our pilgrimage — 
a chastened holy glow, which no earthly joy could 
ever have given ? Is it not indeed an anchor to 
the soul, sure and stedfast ? Write and tell me of 
your first Sabbath, and first sermon, in your new 
sphere of ministerial labour. How earnestly do I 
beg a blessing on your ministry — on all you do, 
and on all your plans for future usefulness. Mrs. 
S especially begged, that I would ask a bless- 
ing on her son's being with you, and I do so every 
day : think therefore, my dear son, that his mother, 



LETTERS. 191 

and your mother, are both pleading with God for 
his blessing on this measure. Does it not throw 
the whole thing into a different light, than the 
mere obtaining some little additional classical and 
mathematical knowledge ? — they may be six most 
important months to this dear young friend. God 
grant that it may be so. I cannot give you a very 
good account of myself, but you could not expect 
this, the weather has been so against me, as to 
prevent my stirring out. I have every kind medi- 
cal attendance ; but no medicines, change of air, 
exercise, or physician's skill, seem to arrest the 
progress of the complaint ; but this must not dis- 
tress you — I am so happy. Oh ! the comfortable 
persuasion of being indeed a child of God by adop- 
tion — " the spirit of adoption " — think of the full 
meaning of that — not going into the presence of 
my God and Father as the Jews did, with a sin- 
offering in my hand, but with the abiding thankful 
remembrance, a kind of consciousness pervading all 
the movements of my soul towards God, that an 
offering has been made once for all, and by that 
one offering, a full, perfect, and sufficient satisfac- 
tion been made for all my sins, even mine. So 
now I can go in and out of my Father's presence 
as a child, pardoned and beloved. Krummacher 
says on these words — " If ye shall ask any thing 
in my name " — ■ If I were to desire any of you 
to go to a dear and intimate friend of mine, and 



192 LETTERS. 

ask him for whatever it might be, in my name, and 
he were to refuse you, it would not be you, but /, 
who need blush.' Oh, my dear son, we, fallen 
sinners as we are, honour God by confiding in his 
love, and word of promise — it would seem pre- 
sumptuous to say so — but He has himself declared 
it. His faithfulness and truth are my shield and 
buckler, and shall be while I live, — weak, and sin- 
ful in myself, but my strength is Omnipotence. 

Do not grudge having so little time at present 
for reading Augustine — this is the active period 
of your life: now you are working for God, "a 
fellow-worker with God," as a faithful minister of 
Christ, 2 Cor. vi. 1. Just think, Oh! you will 
never regret spending your strength for Him, ever 
looking up — there, there shall be your everlasting 
reward — beyond the bed of death — beyond the 
tomb ; yes, even to the utmost bounds of the ever- 
lasting hills, where in God's own good time we 
shall meet to part no more. 

Ever your most affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 

LETTER IX. 

My affectionate Son, 
I think I have been gaining a little strength since 
you left me, but am still very weak, and it affects 



LETTERS. 193 

me in such a variety of ways which I cannot de- 
scribe — I am in a tremor the minute I begin to 
write, and feel sure that I shall not say what I 
mean to say — well, I shall not regard it ; in spite 
of every thing it is a letter from your Mother, and 
that I know you will be glad to receive. Are you 
tolerably comfortable in your new Vicarage-house ? 
How I should like to furnish myself for once with 
a pair of wings, just to see you arranging all things 
in your new establishment. It was long after I 
lost you before I could help looking for you at 
Chettle when the door opened, and still seemed 
to feel that you were coming until three or four 
days went by ; then I realized that you were in- 
deed gone — and this is earth — and so do the 
purest pleasures here pass away — and it is well — 
come then that eternal world ! It is a delightful 
feeling, that our home is not here. We seek a 
better country, even a heavenly, and we seek it, 
through winds and waves. Blessed be God, some- 
times he gives us such plain, bright glimpses of the 
home we seek, that we take courage on our way ; 
for we can discern its bright light shining through 
fogs and storms, and at no such great distance. 
My dear son, encourage yourself like David, in 
the Lord your God. When sometimes your spirit 
is almost overwhelmed, and thoughts awakened by 
memory will cause a tear ; when you feel that all 
is desolate on earth — Oh ! then, just go up with 

K 



194 LETTERS. 

Moses to the top of the mountain, and look for- 
ward intently over the length and the breadth of 
the promised land — see the bright inheritance pur- 
chased for you — there it is, straight before you — 
it is yours, there is your own house — " a building 
of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in 
the heavens." The one you now inhabit is but 
for a few years — so never mind, if it is just suffi- 
ciently commodious. How poor, by and bye, will 
seem earth's most splendid palaces ; how we shall 
wonder that we ever admired any thing here to 
the degree that we do. 

I long to know what your plans are for useful- 
ness among your people. — Your labour is begun 
in that portion of the Lord's vineyard, which is 
assigned to you to till. There may be much waste 
barren land to clear of weeds and rubbish — but 
after a little while, I trust you will see the seed 
sown, springing up and promising a fair and goodly 
harvest. Most earnestly do I implore a blessing 
upon all you do, and design for good, I must 
now lay down my pen and try to get a little sleep 
on my couch by the fire — do not you see me calm 
and happy there 1 I will try to finish this afterwards. 

I have had no sleep and what shall I say, — 

' What tho' downy slumbers flee, 
Strangers to my couch and me ; 
Sleepless — well I know to rest, 
Lodged within my Father's breast. 



LETTERS. 195 

While the empress of the night, 
Scatters mild her silver light ; 
"While the vivid planets stray, 
Various through their mystic way — 

While the stars unnumbered roll, 
Round the ever-constant pole ; 
Far above these spangled skies, 
All my soul to God shall rise. 

Midst the silence of the night, 
Mingling with those angels bright, 
Whose harmonious voices raise, 
Ceaseless love, and ceaseless praise.' 

Your own affectionate Mother, 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTER X. 

Once more, my dear son, I take my pen, to ex- 
press the pleasure I had in reading your last letter ; 
it affected me too much, I often wonder to see 
how you have borne all — surely God has sustained 
you in no common manner. I know well, often- 
times when no human being is near you, and God 
alone has his eye of love fixed upon you, that he 
sees the anguish which would hide itself from every 
living creature. Ah, yes ! he knows it all — and by 
and bye, you will be more than satisfied with all that 
has befallen you here. I have long accustomed 
myself to look intently forward, and now you must 

K 2 



196 LETTERS. 

do so too : This is not, ought not to be our rest, — 
remember, here we are servants preparing for their 
Lord ; and how bright the prospects which unfold 
themselves to the eye of faith. 

A new world is opening its beauties to me, 
As tlds from my sight is receding. 

Have you seen the memoir of Mrs. East ? If not, 
when you meet with it, just read a letter to her 
from Mr. Simeon, near the end of the volume, and 
read again and again his idea of the feeling of a 
soul just entered into heaven. I will transcribe 
however that part of the letter. " It has been 
often said by persons, and it is with many a 
favourite idea- — ( I shall at my admission into the 
divine presence, shout louder than any one/ I 
expect it will be far otherwise with me. I expect 
rather to fall upon my face, with the deepest self- 
abasement, and not even to venture to lift up my 
eyes, until especially enjoined to do so; and then 
to sing only with a tremulous and scarcely audible 
voice, such as in some favoured seasons I have 
uttered in God's house below, the wonders of 
redeeming love. True, he has forgiven me ; but 
can I forgive myself? must not every testimony 
of his love towards me, make me abhor myself in 
dust and ashes? This then is the way, in which I 
would go in and out before him here ; and in 
which I ever desire to meet him, when I shall come 
into his immediate presence hereafter. With 






LETTERS. 197 

Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus I desire to live, 
and with Mary washing his feet with her tears, 
and wiping them with the hair of her head, I de- 
sire to die." These are exactly my ideas. Oh ! 
what a moment will that be, when we shall see Him, 
" whom having not yet seen, we love" — -when the 
whole truth of every thing, or rather every thing 
past, present, and future, shall stand before us in 
ail its reality and amazing truth. Sometimes my 
spirit would sink within me, when I think of my 
own worthlessness and sinfulness, but Oh ! my 
Saviour, still, still, the friend of sinners, thou wilt 
shield me in that hour. I rest my hope in him, 
and when my faith almost gives way from very 
overwhelming views of my own exceeding sinful- 
ness in the sight of an infinitely pure and holy God, 
then, I fly to the horns of the altar, which have 
been sprinkled with the blood of the sacrifice, and 
there I keep my hold. Satan himself, seeking 
ever to destroy the souls of men, dare not, cannot 
touch me there. Oh ! what has the Redeemer 
done for us — from how great a destruction has he 
delivered us. I believe we know very little yet, 
either of what he has done for us, or what it cost him 
to redeem our souls to God. The hour however 
is not distant, when we shall know. My heart 
would muse on these things all the day long, 
il while my spirit maketh diligent search." 

I am so interested in all you tell me about 



198 LETTERS. 

"YVrawby. How should I enjoy a visit to you — 
but in this matter, as in all other, I would cheer- 
fully submit to the will of my heavenly Father. 
You must ever take courage in remembering your 
Divine Master — who He is, and what is His cha- 
racter. When you are most feeling your own weak- 
ness and insufficiency in speaking to the people of 
your own ministerial charge, then is the very time 
for Him to bless you — only just cast yourself entire- 
ly upon Him — He will sustain you in the work of 
the ministry, as He has done in the day of heavy 
affliction and of trial. Trust Him and be not 
afraid — do not mind the nicest accuracy of expres- 
sion ; I believe more is effected by earnest prayer 
for a divine blessing — and a word spoken from the 
heart, with a sincere desire for His glory, in the 
salvation of immortal souls, will command His 
blessing. Do not, for one moment, be discou- 
raged at the arduousness of the work appointed 
you. You will find again and again ( old Adam 
too strong for young Melancthon ' — but persevere. 
It is only by very small degrees, that you can hope 
to effect any thing substantially good. Labour 
therefore to be instrumental in preaching the gos- 
pel of Christ, and in every good word and work, 
to do good among your people, and I feel per- 
suaded that He will bless you, and make you a 
blessing. Adieu, my dear son. 

Your very affectionate mother, 
Chettle, 1838. JJ. "W". 



LETTERS. 199 



LETTER XI. 

My dearest John, 
I cannot spend an hour or two this morning 
more happily than in writing to you. I thank you 
for your very affectionate letter, which I received 
with several others from my dear children on this 
my birth-day. They contain so many dear ex- 
pressions of affection, that my heart must be as 
cold as the chill morning dew, not to be melted 
with joy and gratitude. How blessed to live in 
the affections of one's dear children, — they are 
now the joy and hope of my heart ; and I could 
cherish the thought, that when in heaven I am 
praising and blessing God for allHis mercies in my 
salvation, the affection wherewith I have been 
loved by my dear family on earth may not be for- 
gotten. I wish I could tell you some of the 
thoughts and feelings which have been passing 
through my mind lately, but I find a difficulty now 
in retaining an idea even long enough to give it 
form, or expression. I have endeavoured, how- 
ever, to meditate much on the momentous events 
of this week — the Passion-week. Oh ! what must 
have been the agony, that wrung that bloody sweat 
out of every pore, that called forth that prayer of 
intense suffering : " Father, if it be possible, let 
this cup pass from me." We should, surely take 



200 LETTERS. 

our stand every day. by our Saviour's cross — we 
should endeavour to realize what there took place, 
and then we should get something like a faint idea 
of what sin must be — and what it cost to redeem 
the soul. How much I love those expressions in 
our Litany — ' By thine agony and bloody sweat,' 
&c. &c. I have been praying earnestly this morn- 
ing, and will not the prayer suit you ? — that all 
immoderate earthly attachment — all anxious so- 
licitude about earthly things — all worldly feelings 
that may interrupt a close communion with God — 
all selfishness — the whole body of sin, in whatever 
shape, though as dear as my right hand, may be 
nailed to that cross on which my dear Redeemer 
died ; that so I, being crucified with Christ, may rise 
again with Him in newness of heart and life. There 
can be no spiritual life in the soul until this is done, 
or at least doing — but is it not an awful prayer ? 
There are those, who deceive themselves by dwell- 
ing on all that Jesus Christ has done for sinners, 
and this perhaps with delight ; but forget the work 
which must be carried on in their own souls, if 
they ever join the spirits of the just made perfect 
in heaven. Yes, we must be crucified with Christ, 
if we w r ould live with him in glory ; and this is no 
easy thing — in short, it must be His work. His 
own direction is — " abide in me" May we know 
more and more, my dear son, of what this union 
with Christ means. As the branch derives all its 



LETTERS. 201 

nourishment from the tree, and could not bring 
forth any fruit, but by virtue of its union with it, 
no more can we — it must be by dwelling in Christ 
and Christ in us — and this is the hidden life which 
no man knows, but he that is born again of the 
Spirit. Then, will the true Christian say with 
St. Paul — " Nevertheless I live ; yet not I, but 
Christ liveth in me " — and then we may add — 
" For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." 

Your very affectionate mother, 
H. W. 

CAettie, 1838. 



LETTER XII. 

I begin this to-day, dearest John, but perhaps 
may not finish it for a day or two, because I can- 
not write very much at a time now. Yours which 
I received this morning, seems to my heart to 
breathe sighs, and 1 take my pen, half in the 
hope, that perhaps I may comfort and cheer, a 
little moment, a heart that has been so sorely 
bruised and lacerated. I have been in prayer for 
you, and I thought of that promise, (Isaiah Ixvi. 
13.) — " As one whom his mother comforteth, so 
will I comfort you " — and could not help pleading 
it for you, with our heavenly Father ; who knows, 
how your mother would comfort you if she could — 
K 5 



202 LETTERS. 

though * the days of peaceful, careless home life 
are gone/ yet welcome, welcome is that sorrow 
which shall do its part in crucifying the world to 
us. Yes, it is one thing to be crucified to the 
world by losses and affliction — but another by the 
cross of Christ — it is indeed — yet God is so mer- 
ciful, that he permits, and makes use of our natu- 
ral feelings, to lead us to himself — and so it is, 
that when the world is in a measure dead to us — 
when all we most loved, most fondly called our 
own is gone, — oh, then it is, that the very yearn- 
ing of the soul for something to bless, makes us 
turn to God, and there what do we find ? Is it 
not that the love of God in Jesus Christ is enough ? 
Here we would rest for ever — having found this 
pearl we can let the rest go ; but this is easier to 
write, than to feel abidingly. Oh, my son, mag- 
nify the Lord with me, for enabling you so peace- 
fully to pass on your way through a storm that 
would have sunk many a bark; — your anchor's 
hold is within the veil. Do not then be discou- 
raged now ; let not one of the thousand annoyances 
take hold of your spirits — think no more so anx- 
iously of what you cannot accomplish in your 
ministry. You have not strength to perform so 
much ministerial duty ; do not expect too much — 
remember " the race is not to the swift, nor the 
battle to the strong." God can bless ; yea, and 
will bless what to us may seem the feeblest means. 



LETTERS. 208 

Gideon slew the Midianites which were as grass- 
hoppers for multitude, by means of only three 
hundred men, with their earthern pitchers and 
lamps in them. After all, faith in God is our 
strong hold — God in Christ. 

Your thoughts upon " that exceeding bitter cry," 

recal to my mind an expression of Mr. D , 

my medical attendant, as he saw me cheerful, 
when suffering and oppressed with pain. He said, 
* You are greatly blessed in a calm, peaceful state 
of mind, but you must not be surprised, should 
it not always continue. Remember our Saviour 
himself was left to cry out, " My God, my God, 
why hast thou forsaken me." ' The remark struck 
me much, and I was thinking over it, on the 22nd 
of last month, (March,) my birth-day, and could 
not help putting down my thoughts, thus : — 



And wilt thou noio forsake me, Lord ? 

Oh no, it cannot be ; 
No earthly tongue can ever tell, 

What thou hast been to me. 

These nine-and-forty years, my God, 

Thy love has sheltered me ; 
And wilt thou now forsake thy child ? 

Oh no, it cannot be. 

Thy love has been my resting-place, 
Through every weary year ; 

I've leaned upon thy bosom, Lord, 
And thou hast dried the scalding tear. 



204 LETTERS. 

Come life, come death, I take my stand, 

Where I have ever stood ; 
Beneath the shelter of thy cross, 

The droppings of thy blood. 

And there, when youth, and health, and strength, 

And energy are fled ; 
The shades of evening, peacefully, 

Shall close around my head. 

And when in the utter helplessness 

Of death, I turn to thee, 
Thou wilt not then, forsake me, Lord, 

Oh no ! it cannot be. 

Your truly affectionate mother 
H. W. 

Ckettle, 1838. 



LETTER XIII. 

My dearest John, 
I am now as usual, in the quiet peacefulness of 
my own room, my fire burning, and the sofa 
standing just where you left it — my thoughts turn 
again to you, and with this prayer; — O God, look 
down from heaven thy dwelling-place, and pour 
thy richest blessings on his head: — G eternal 
Spirit, shed abroad in his heart a Saviour's love 
so powerfully, so sweetly, that all his soul may be 
lifted above the sorrows of earth : — Omost adorable 
Saviour, visit him in thy mercy, and bid him rest 



LETTERS. 205 

on thy word, and in the tenderness of thy own 
character, that though sorrowful, he may rejoice 
in thee. 

I feel hovering between two worlds, peaceful 
and satisfied, yet sometimes an anxious thought 
would arise in my breast about you all, in a world 
of difficulty and trial : but I check it, as well 
knowing that I cannot " make one hair white or 
black." They are all gone to Church, and I am 
alone, and yet I trust not alone. I find it good to 
commune with God in the secret chamber, and to 
meditate on his holy word — great also is the privi- 
lege of prayer. I have been reading a great part 
of the Liturgy this Sabbath morning, to myself, 
and have found much comfort in the prayers. Is 
not the latter part of the Collect for the day just 
what we want. Oh, may we be enabled " to 
follow the example of His patience, and also be 
made partakers of his resurrection." Will you 
just read Numbers xi. 11 — 17 ; turn it spiritually, 
and you will get comfort from it — see how Grod 
listens to our complaints, and enters into them, 
for He knoweth our frame. 

I do think, that your ministerial charge is too 
much for you, you need assistance in your minis- 
try ; your labour exhausts your physical strength 
and affects your spirits, and you get disheartened. 
Let me copy for you a part of one ofRomaine's 
letters on this subject. — ( This is to me an amaz- 



206 LETTERS. 

ing event, that such a one should be made a pas- 
tor; one that is plagued to death with his own 
heart, to make him a watchman over others ! — 
What is the Lord doing ?— With the most utter 
abhorrence of myself, and of my being unfit to be 
the minister of a great parish, in the midst of this 
great city, I have been forced to leave it to the Lord. 
I have heard in my heart a voice say — * Whom 
shall I send ? ' And have been compelled to say, 
" Here I am, send me !" — Trusting then, Jesus 
Christ, to thy grace and power, depending upon 
thine arm, and blessing, out I go, not only unfit, 
but also averse to the work. It is thine, Lord, to 
work in me, both to will and to do.' See, my dear 
son, you are not alone in the sentiments and com- 
plaints of yourself which you express to me. How 
truly awful is the death of such a character as you 
mention ; who, as death drew nigh, could only 
give such an answer to the question — Do you look 
to Jesus Christ for salvation? as — ' I think I do, but 
don't know much about it.' You did right, I think, 
in not administering the sacrament to one, who 
seemed to feel so little sorrow for those past habits 
of life, which destroyed his constitution ; and who, 
in the fearful wreck of his immortal spirit, appeared 
to be so little concerned, as you spake of one cru- 
cified. Yet, may the Lord have had mercy on 
him in the last languishing hour of life. 

Should I ever have health and strength to see 



LETTERS. 207 

you in your vicarage, as the devoted watchful 
pastor of your flock, I do think that all my youth- 
ful feelings of happiness and joy would return to 
me again. 

Ever, ever your affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chetth, 1838. 



LETTER XIV. 

My dearest John, 

I cannot help writing to you again, though I 
have written so lately, because I am rather uneasy 
and anxious about you, and shall not be quite at 
ease, until I know that you are well again of your 
cold, and sore throat. You see this is a penalty 
you pay for being so dearly loved. You get tor- 
mented with letters, if the least thing ails you. 
Yet, calmly considered, how good is it to be 
afflicted, — how it shews us things as they are, 
and how it tells us whereabouts we are. 

I have been reading the sermons you mentioned, 
and quite agree with you, that it is not beauty 
that we want, but something that will rouse us, to 
consider more the divine reality of religion. Oh, 
there is a power in religion, which few seem to 
understand ; I trust, for many years past, I have 
been longing to know more and more of this power. 



208 LETTERS. 

It is thus expressed by St. Paul, Eph. i. 19, 20. 
" And what is the exceeding greatness of his 
power to us-ward who believe, according to the 
working of his mighty power, which he wrought 
in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and 
set him at his own right hand in the heavenly 
places." There is a hidden life with Christ in 
God — but in what does this hidden life consist ? 
It is a spiritual life. The mere moralist does not 
understand it, and multitudes of baptized Chris- 
tians are strangers to it. The apostle says, " The 
Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that 
we are the children of God." Rom. viii. 16. I 
have heard it remarked, — ' Is it not enough to look 
at the cross of Christ, and take comfort from it ? ' 
But a believing glance of that cross, produces a 
feeling sense of sin forgiven ; and as this becomes 
the abiding feeling of the soul, love to God, as a 
reconciled Father in Jesus Christ, will become 
daily more and more the absorbing feeling, until, 
to use David's expression, (which I so much love,) 
we hourly " stretch out our hands unto God." 
But some may say, that all this is mere sentiment. 
It is not so, for where this love to God exists in 
reality, God in Christ, an union so perfect takes 
place between Christ and that soul, that the whole 
man is changed. We have Christ's own declara- 
tion for this truth, John xiv. 20 — 23 ; xv. 5 ; 
xvii. 21 — 23. Henceforward to do his will, is the 



LETTERS. 209 

heart's best delight ; and even to suffer it, becomes 
a pleasure — then, indeed, self-denial is the test* 
And who can tell but the true Christian, whose 
" life is hid with Christ in God," how sweet self- 
denial becomes to such a soul, in a hundred thou- 
sand little circumstances, trivial perhaps in them- 
selves, but yet not trivial, because they are each 
one tests of our love to him^ who shed his blood 
for our redemption, which no eye but his can see, 
and no heart but his understand. Oh ! this is to 
take up the cross daily and follow him ; and ever 
remember, my dear son, as a minister of the gos- 
pel of Christ, that true religion consists of doctrine, 
experience, and practice. These are ever closely 
united in the mystery of our redemption ; and 
those are the best sermons that combine the three. 
I have given you these thoughts on the subject, as 
you have required me ; but do not think, that in 
writing them, I have already attained " unto the 
measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ; " 
Oh no ! Yet I see clearly what the Christian life 
should be, and I trust I am enabled to press for- 
ward in it a little ; ever willing to do, and suffer 
cheerfully, the will of God, while on my way to 
his eternal kingdom. 

Your most affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



210 LETTERS. 



LETTER XV. 

How glad I was, my dear son, to hear of your 
recovery from your late indisposition ; and I was 
very much interested in the account } r ou gave me 
of the poor aged Christian you met with, and the 
difference between his sentiments and yours, on 
some points in religion. I have not much to say 
now on these differences of opinion. You agree 
on the great essential points of Christianity, let 
the others go their way. You are safe in the faith 
of Christ, and so is the aged Christian, (with all 
his errors, as they appear to you,) in the same 
faith — and I quite agree with you, that it is not at 
all worth while to attempt to shake opinions, 
which have wound themselves round all his 
thoughts, and have formed themselves into clusters 
of beauty, and depth, and delight. He has been 
so taught of God, as to flee for refuge to the Rock 
cleft for sinners ; and while wearied with sin, he 
rests under the shadow of that Rock, he is 
strengthened and refreshed in his pilgrimage, till 
death shall remove him to that blessed society, 
where there are no divisions ; but where all is har- 
mony and peace. I think, however, your opinions 
more according to the general tenor of the scrip- 
tures, and more useful ; but this I know, the 
longer we live, we shall find ourselves more or less 



LETTERS. 21 1 

disappointed in every thing earthly — disappointed 
in our hopes of usefulness — but most of all, disap- 
pointed in ourselves. The promise you mention, 
I am persuaded, will be fulfilled in every one, who 
is born again as an heir with Christ of the king- 
dom of heaven, " that sin shall not have dominion 
over you ; for ye are not under the law, but under 
grace." Rom. vi. 14. There may be an arduous 
conflict with sin, but this I am sure of, grace will 
prevail, to our rejoicing in Christ Jesus our living 
head ; and in him, we shall go on our way rejoic- 
ing, though fighting every inch of our ground — 
rejoicing, yes, with joy unspeakable and full of 
glory, looking intently forward, beyond the present 
scene of things to the coming realities, when we 
shall see Him as he is. Oh ! my own dear son, 
dwell on these things, till the sorrows of earth flee ■ 
away, — at least, till they lose their bitterness. It 
is my happiness to believe, that your soul has 
found her resting-place in his divine name, and I 
am satisfied. — " Henceforth there is laid up for us 
a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the 
righteous judge shall give us at that day, and not 
to us only, but unto all them also that love his ap- 
pearing." 2 Tim. iv. 8. Does not this one 
thought take off from all, the poverty and little- 
ness of life? And shall we think much of the 
trials, which are the means of subduing, and 
chastening, and refining, and preparing us for 



2\% LETTERS. 

those mansions which the righteous Lord has pro- 
mised to us, and secured for us in the heavens ? 
Oh ! I have often dwelt upon the resurrection of 
Christ as the first fruits — then — and in like man- 
ner they that are his, at his coming. 

I am wonderfully well considering all things ; 
but that wellness is a poor shattered state. I have 
been staying a short time at Critchill ; Lady Char- 
lotte, all kindness, taking me out every day, and 
nearly all the day long, saying that it is the only 
plan likely to benefit my health, and begs me to 
persevere. I do think, I have gained strength a 
little by it. But, my dearest John, pray for me 
earnestly, and daily. I begin to realize my situa- 
tion more, — Oh, to be entirely awake ! my hope, 
however, does not fail me, neither is it only a 
trembling hope — I cling to the life boat, for the 
wreck is awful; If I were shaken off from that, 
where in the wide ocean before me should I find 
a stay to my soul — There is no other — He, there- 
fore, is my life, and my salvation. Adieu, my 
ever dear son. 

Your ever affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTERS. 213 

LETTER XVI. 

My dearest Son, 

It will be sometime yet you tell me, before you 
will be able to leave your ministerial charge for a 
little while, on a visit to Chettle ; perhaps a month 
or two, but they will go by, and then perhaps you 
wdll come, but not then with joy unmixed in a 
world that has forsaken its God. It cannot be : 
we must have patience, for only in our Father's 
house shall we hear sounds of joy unmingled with 
one note of sadness. I have so long accustomed 
myself to look intently forward to that bright and 
glorious period, that I begin to realize that the 
time is indeed short, and the joys or the sorrows of 
the earth become more alike of little moment. 

I can exactly enter into the feelings of that dear 
little girl on her dying bed, in saying, f is this all 
the suffering ? Oh ! not worthy to be compared 
to the glory which shall be revealed,' and the ac- 
count you give also of the poor old Christian 
woman quite affected me. There appears every 
ground to hope that she loves her Lord and her 
God. You remember G.'s wife in our village ; 
she is advancing with more rapid steps than I am 
to the banks of the river ; she seems fully awake 
to her situation, but calm and happy, knowing 
whom she has believed. I bless God for all these 



214 LETTERS. 

testimonies of his grace ; they are encouraging to 
ministers who labour " in the word and doctrine." 
I do not wonder that you sometimes feel weary 
and cold in your duties, you would be more than 
human if you did not. Does not this verse some- 
times comfort you ? " He knoweth our frame, he 
remembereth that we are dust." Yes, he is ac- 
quainted with the imperfection of our characters, 
while our hearts are right before him. He knows 
the very inmost thoughts of our hearts, which is a 
thought upon which I delight to dwell ; and he 
sees too the inward conflict, the soul struggling to 
be freed from sin. The following verse often 
occurs to my mind, which I am very fond of, 
" And God breathed into his nostrils the breath 
of life, and man became a living soul ;" and though 
a mortal creature in his fallen character, has not 
God again a second time breathed into him the 
breath of life, of a new life, eternal life, whereby 
he is made a partaker of the divine nature ? We 
will not then sorrow, like those who have no hope, 
but rejoice even in all our tribulation. God well 
knows how to sustain and comfort in the hour of 
our greatest trials and difficulties. 

' For sick at heart, beyond the veil we fly, 
Seeking his presence, who alone can bless.' 

And then ever and anon, we hear in our secret 
communings of soul, a silent voice, " It is I, 



LETTERS. 215 

be not afraid," and can say, " my Lord and my 
God ;" and oh, the joy of knowing that in him we 
have eternal life; that soon our dying life will be 
over, and we shall behold him on the throne of 
his glory. Indeed, it does seem but a short time 
at the longest, 

' To brighten for the Ethereal court, 
A soiled earth-drudging heart.' 

Oh ! to do something for the glory of God, 
before we go hence, and be no more seen ; that is 
all. In considering the by -gone days of my life, I 
have been an unprofitable servant indeed ; but a 
strange feeling of joy and content mixes with my 
sorrow, that I have brought up my children for 
my God, teaching, admonishing, and instructing 
them in the fear of the Lord with prayer, and in 
the hope that they may all be monuments of his 
grace both here and hereafter ; and I never think 
of you as a minister, so faithful as I have heard 
you in your ministry, labouring to bring sinners to 
your divine master, but I bless God for you. Your 
work is arduous, yet faint not, God is your 
strength, the most high God your redeemer, and 
underneath you are the everlasting arms. With 
the best affection, 

Your affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



216 LETTERS. 



LETTER XVII. 

You say, my dearest son, that you have thought 
it very long since my last, but my poor frame, 
weakened and pulled down with disease, has been 
the cause of my not writing. I never felt well 
enough to write any thing more than just common- 
place nonsense, and could not make up my mind 
to do that ; and now I take up my pen without 
one idea in my poor brain, but it is of no use now 
to wait for a brighter mood. 

I do remember giving you a book called, e Well- 
wood's meditations on a glimpse of glory.' It is as 
you say, a wonderful book — it does seem to give a 
glimpse of glory ; it seems to still the noise of 
earth, and let into the soul the tones of the celes- 
tial harmony. Your last did me good, and I look 
indeed for your letters now, as the greatest helps 
I have in my homeward course. Thank you, for 
putting me in mind of what lies before me ; do so 
again and again ; it strengthens and rouses me, 
and I need it. I lose so often the realizing sense 
of eternal things, not that I doubt or fear, yet the 
heart would rest too much on the earth still, so 
much so at times, that heaven seems afar off, dim 
and scarcely discernible ; the clouds and fogs of 
earth, and its dark unhealthy vapours arise, and 
gather round my soul, so as to obscure the view of 



LETTERS. 217 

that celestial city, with all its beauties, which has 
been so clearly brought before me. This is my 
weakness and my trial. The cloud, however, is 
passing over our heads ; mortality is decaying and 
dropping off, and we shall very soon stand in the 
open glare of eternal light. 

I have realized something of that state of help- 
less weakness to which you allude, but this, I do not 
fear : Oh, no ! because you do not see then it is 
God who is to act, not I: then, in the helpless- 
ness of my mortal frame, Jesus Christ has pledged 
his word, that he will sustain me. Then, I think 
it will be nothing but peace, because I shall have 
nothing more to do, but just to rest upon his love, 
his faithfulness and truth. Now it is that I am 
tried, much tried by a body of sin and of death ; 
by my own deadness at times in spiritual things ; 
by the light dust of the earth still cleaving to my 
feet — yet when one ray, one single ray from the 
Sun of righteousness darts across my soul, then 
all is as it should be. Earth can be but earth, 
and I am content with every thing but myself. I 
sometimes see, however, such beauty, such infi- 
nite perfection and loveliness in my Redeemer, 
and at the same time, he teaches and encourages 
me to believe that all this he is before God for 
me, and in my stead ; that then I am content to 
be just what I am, a sinner saved by grace from 
first to last. I am filled with gratitude ; my heart 

L 



218 LETTERS. 

melts entirely, and I could suffer or do any thing, 
only to be conformed to his will, his blessed will, 
and to be transformed into his image. How 
thankful should we be that our hearts are already 
tuning for the harmony of heaven, what shall we 
do in eternity but wonder, (astonishing wonder,) 
that we sinful creatures can expect to be raised to 
God's throne : what can we say now, but that it is 
his own good pleasure to give us the kingdom. 

How blessed your privilege, to have cheered the 
aged dying Christian you mention, in her last 
hours. The dear little boy too, is he dying in the 
faith of the Lord Jesus, and have you been able to 
cheer him also in going down into the dark valley 
of the shadow of death ? I earnestly pray that God 
may so bless you, that you may be instrumental 
in bringing many sons to glory, that your heart 
may be filled with gladness in a world where the 
sorrows of that heart have been enlarged. 

Your own affectionate Mother, 

H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTER XVIII. 

My ever dear John, 
I desire to be thankful for lengthened life, if by 
any means I can be of any comfort or blessing to 



LETTERS. 219 

my dear family ; and as the means of making me 
know more what real religion is. It is indeed a 
great work, to be changed from the image of the 
earthly, to the image of the heavenly. It is a 
wonderful change ; in contemplating it I stand in 
mute astonishment. Oh, " what manner of per- 
sons ought we to be ? " I see and feel more and 
more what God can do. " We have heard with 
our ears, and our fathers have told us, what he did 
in their days, and in the old time before them," 
and why not now ? The very same God that took 
Abraham by the hand to lead him into Canaan, 
that led the children of Israel all through the 
wilderness, is our God ; and he is just leading us 
through the wilderness,— enemies will, and may 
further oppose us on our way, but our divine 
leader is omnipotent, and will bring us safely 
through ; and I do find that the thoughts of the 
heavenly inheritance, the coming glory, is enough 
to overwhelm the cares, the sorrows and trials which 
will sometimes depress my mind. All, all are 
soothed and put to rest, by simply trusting to the 
Saviour, and resting upon his word. I must copy 
you a passage I have been reading, which pleases 
me so much ; ' Oh, the wonderful power of heart- 
piety, and the wonderful peace also. How does 
walking with God like Enoch, elevate, expand, 
enrich, ennoble, compose, and regulate the mind ! 
How much interest does it give to every moment 

L 2 



220 LETTERS, 

of the day ! There is no aching void, no yawning 
vacuum, no tedious course in the living Christian's 
life ; all is pursuit, advancement, possession ; every 
object is sublime, animating, filling, eternal. How 
sweet to begin each day, with " Lord Jesus, into 
thy hands I commit my spirit, my body, my 
thoughts, my words and actions." Do you enter 
into this, do you understand it ? Oh, then you 
will realize with me, something of the privilege of 
being a Christian, " to be one with Christ, and 
Christ with us," just think of these words, " Christ 
in you, the hope of glory.' ' The joys of earth 
seem nothing to me, and the sorrows and suffer- 
ings nothing ; but I shall not always continue to 
feel this ; I know myself too well to expect it, but 
blessed be God, he has taught me to know, that 
through all the frames and feelings of my mortal 
nature, " He is the same, yesterday, to-day, and 
for ever." 

Oh my son, it has indeed been your lot 

' In early life 

To bow beneath afflictions' rod. 

but what have afflictions done for you ? Have 
they not been the means of leading you to look 
more earnestly after, and to search more dili- 
gently for, eternal realities ? Let not your mind 
rest upon earthly sorrows and disappointments, 
look not on the gloomy foreground, in the beau- 



LETTERS. 221 

tiful and extensive prospect that rises to your 
view ; but look on over the far blue hills into the 
golden distances beyond. Do you not already see 
the dawn of Jubilee, fringing with rosy edges the 
thin white clouds ? Oh ! the day is at hand, the 
eternal day draws nigh, and then, 

' Heaven's age of fearless rest ' 

is ours. Does not your attendance on the sick 
and dying continually throw you upon the Re- 
deemer, the Alpha and the Omega ? My own 
weakness drives me there, and I can rejoice before 
God, in finding him my life, my strength, my 
refuge — my all. God bless you. 

Ever your affectionate Mother, 
H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTER XIX. 

My dearest Son, 
I have been pondering over past years very much 
during the last few days, and with gratitude to God, 
have thought over the many mercies which have 
marked the pilgrimage of my life. The one, 
which stands out first and foremost, and meets my 
view at every turn, is the comfort and happiness 
you have been to me for now thirty years. This 
time last year, I had anticipated for you much 



222 LETTERS, 

earthly happiness ; I looked forward to the con- 
nection you were about to form with delight — but 
it pleased God to visit you with sorrow which 
withered your fondly-cherished hopes, and left 
your heart desolate within you. Yet, yet I re- 
joice for you, I rejoice much more, than if I had 
seen you in full possession of every earthly joy, 
unmindful of God your Saviour. He does all 
things well, — He has not taken from you your 
earthly happiness for nothing. " God is love." 
How little do we know of it as yet — but what we 
know not now, we shall know hereafter. In a 
little while, and we shall be satisfied, that it was 
all mercy ; and that every dispensation of Divine 
Providence towards us, however afflictive in its 
nature, is of the loving-kindness of the Lord. I 
feel I scarce know how, in writing to you at this 
time ; shall I be able to continue writing to you 
much longer ? I think not — but then, you will 
come and be with me in the chamber of my afflic- 
tion and death ; and your presence will ever com- 
fort me. I cannot express to you, the ten thou- 
sand feelings which rush through my mind at times ; 
then all again subsides into one peaceful calm, and 
with gratitude I say—" My God ! what do I owe 
thee, for all thy mercies ; my son is thine, thou 
hast brought him into thy fold, and all things ac- 
cording to thy promise, shall work together for 
his good, till thou shalt bring him into thy fold 






LETTERS. 223 

above." A thousand thanks for your last letter ; 
and with a thankful heart, would I praise God for 
leading you to help me forward as you do, in the 
joyful hope of eternal rest. Yes, it is a mercy to 
have begun on earth to learn the notes of heaven, 
and have we not 1 " To him who has loved us " — 
"Worthy is the Lamb that was slain" — shall 
we not say so then, when, through Him, we have 
conquered, and shall triumph over sin and the grave. 
I do not wonder at your sometimes almost 
shrinking. The conflict, for the heavenly triumph , 
is long, and weary, and awful ; and if you take 
your eyes off from the great Captain of your sal- 
vation, you will fall before the enemy. But we 
rely upon His own word, and take courage in the 
belief, that He will bring us off more than con- 
querors, as our strength, our shield, and exceed- 
ing great reward. There is indeed a present 
blessedness, beyond what we could have imagined, 
in the love of God in Christ Jesus ; a depth of rest, 
a peace in believing, which passeth all understand- 
ing — a peace which the world can neither give 
nor take away. Much has my mind been comforted 
and strengthened of late, by contemplating Christ 
as a Mediator ; and God, as a triune God, Father, 
Son, and Spirit, all engaged in our salvation. 
Oh ! what a subject it is for our meditations — our 
feeble powers cannot reach its heights, its depths ; 
soon, soon however, shall we know more. " The 



224* LETTERS. 

night is far spent, and the day is at hand." I will 
only add, may the bright shining of the Sun of 
righteousness shed its softest, sweetest beamings 
over every step of your future life, and cheer and 
soften all the ruggedness of your passage through 
this wilderness ; and may the full blessings of 
covenant, everlasting love, be poured down upon 
your whole soul: — as for me, I feel persuaded 
that my days are drawing to a close — but when- 
ever I pass the banks of Jordan, my Saviour will 
meet me at the landing-place. 

Your ever affectionate Mother, 
H. W. 

Chettle, 1838. 



LETTER XX. 

My ever loved Son, 
Your letters are indeed a refreshment to my 
spirits, and you comfort me with " the comfort 
wherewith you yourself have been comforted of 
God." You can form no idea of the thousand 
feelings of weariness and languor, and sometimes 
depression, which are experienced in a long ill- 
ness like mine, though I bless God, and never can 
bless Him as I would, that generally speaking, my 
whole soul is kept in perfect peace — yet now and 
then clouds arise from the earth, and vapours, 



LETTERS. 225 

which dim for a while the bright shining of that 
sun which alone cheers me, — which alone blesses, — 
which alone speaks peace to my heart. Your 
letters deeply interest me ; go on to write to me, 
though I am not able to answer them — I only 
fear that your arduous, laborious ministry will 
injure your health ; may God preserve that in His 
mercy. Ever bear in mind the Redeemer's pro- 
mise, ere he left the earth, to ascend to " that 
glory which He had with the Father before all 
worlds." John xvii. 5. " ho, I am with you al- 
ways, even unto the end of the world." Does not 
this verse cheer you ? Jesus Christ and Him 
crucified, whom you preach, is your strength ; only 
realize the thought, it will ever afford you encou- 
ragement, through all the discouragements of your 
ministry, — nothing in yourself, have you not found 
in some measure, the strength and presence of your 
Divine Master with you ? How blessed is this 
experience? — worth worlds, — what are all the 
treasures of Egypt ?— nothing, nothing to be com- 
pared to it. But I must leave off for to-day. 

I am so thankful to be able to go on with this 
a little this morning. I had a sleepless night, but 
besought God in the night for you, and remem- 
bered your ministry. I will tell you my abiding 
feeling now ; — it is not a longing for heaven and 
all the joys there, but a present peace. Jesus 
Christ permits me, a poor sinner, to lean by faith, 

L 5 



226 LETTERS. 

on His arm with my whole weight, and so to pass 
through the waves which surround me ; and I am 
satisfied, it is enough, — I want no more now, — 
all else I leave to his redeeming love and Divine 
mercy. Oh ! to realize his presence continually, 
to open our eyes with Elijah, and see armed 
chariots and horsemen all around us ; — well, I am 
greatly supported, and would calmly wait the ap- 
pointed time for my departure. 

The poor sufferer you have been so interested 
about, is he dead ? And why should I have a 
better hope than he expressed ? Because God had 
a favour unto me. You know, my own dear son, 
with what affection as a mother, I love you ; yet 
your name does not awaken in my breast, so lively 
a thrill of grateful adoring joy, as that one name, 
Jesus Christ. Oh ! my child, through all that is be- 
fore you, and what that all may be, He only 
knows, cleave unto Him — trust him, — never, never 
will he disappoint you. He will carry you through 
all trials that may befal you, and never leave you, 
till you are perfected with Him in glory. He is 
omnipotent, therefore he can : — -faithful and true, 
therefore He will. 

I send you the 20th Psalm ; read the 40th chap- 
ter of Isaiah, and tell me with what impression it 
leaves you. 

And now I am cheered with the hope, that you 
will be able to get some supply for your churches, 



LETTERS. 227 

that you may visit us this Christmas, — God grant 
us a happy meeting — it shall be a prelude, an 
earnest of a far happier one. 

Affectionately your mother. 
H. W. 

CJiettle, 1838. 

It is thought impossible to read the foregoing- 
letters, without a deep conviction that they evince 
a genuine earnestness and sincerity of heart ; and 
that they were written with the warmest and 
strongest parental affection. 

They contain also, solid scriptural views of 
Divine truth, which took such hold of the affec- 
tions, and so mingled itself with the vital princi- 
ple of the soul, as to produce a piety which was 
seen and read of all who were acquainted with her 
inestimable character. 

They unfold to us a religion, which afforded 
such realizing views of an eternal world, that 
death was disarmed of its sting ; and which so in- 
spired the soul with a hope full of immortality and 
glory, that she was calm and joyful in the pros- 
pect of the change. 

There are some persons who affect to speak 
lightly of death, and yet they can scarcely see the 
death of a relation or a friend, without shrinking 
back at the sight ; or if they have resolution enough 
to command their feelings on such melancholy oc- 



228 LETTERS. 

casions, yet when they come to die, the stoutest 
heart will tremble. How noble then, and power- 
ful must that principle be, which shields the heart, 
and sustains the hope of the dying Christian ! 
And who can enter a chamber like that of the 
subject of this memoir, who, when calmly sink- 
ing, could say — ( It is the will of my heavenly 
Father, and I cheerfully submit to death ; it is 
appointed for me, and I am not afraid to die,' 
without acknowledging the convincing testimony 
that is given to the consolatory and powerful prin- 
ciples of the gospel of Christ— yet indeed, are 
these principles too generally neglected. It is 
readily confessed, that religion with its consola- 
tions and ordinances, is very right when death 
approaches the sick chamber. But why should 
religion, which formed so bright a character, and 
afforded such abiding comfort and support through- 
out such a long protracted illness, as these pages 
record, be neglected in health, and only seriously 
thought of in the day of approaching dissolution ? 
The Divine declaration to us, is — " Behold, now 
is the accepted time, behold, now is the day of 
salvation." 2 Cor. vi. 2. 



LAST ILLNESS. 229 



We now come to that deeply interesting, though 
mournful period of 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

A few months before the event took place, it 
was too visible, that the complaint, which caused 
extreme exhaustion at times, was gradually com- 
ing to a crisis. It had reached that fearful stage 
of illness which confined the dear and patient 
sufferer entirely to her room ; when her affectionate 
son arrived, (whom she had so often comforted by 
her letters, with that hope which gathers bright- 
ness from sorrow,) to soothe with the family, her 
dying pillow, by every mark of affection and ten- 
derness. 

Jan. 1 839,— It was a chamber of affliction ; and 
many a tear was shed, as the disease was seen to 
baffle all the power of medicine, and the time was 
approaching for the departure of one so tenderly 
beloved and esteemed. But it was a ehamber of 
privilege, — 

' The chamber, where the christian meets his death, 

Is privileged beyond the common walk 

Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.' 

Prayer was wont to be made in the evening, the 



230 LAST ILLNESS. 

morning, and at noon-day, and a portion of Scrip- 
ture read, as the dear sufferer might point out, 
or cause to be selected. And often did I linger in 
the sick chamber, to listen to the force of her re- 
marks, and to hear her converse, with much cheer- 
fulness, and unwavering confidence, of things per- 
taining to the kingdom of God. 

In conversation one morning, she said, * I have 
never sought for ecstacy in religion, but for a calm 
settled belief in Jesus, and I have not a doubt of 
my safety. If I am but permitted to pass through 
all my remaining trials and sufferings, leaning as 
it were on the arm of my divine Lord, I am satis- 
fied ; as that arm has been my stay, and will con- 
tinue to support me. 

She much admired the following beautiful 
hymn : — 

Oh ! how the thought, that I shall know, 
The man that suffer'd here below, 

To manifest His favour ; 
To me, and those whom most I love, 
Or here, or with Himself above, 
Does my delighted passions move, 

At that sweet word " for ever." 

For evermore to see Him shine ! 
For evermore to call Him mine ! 

And see Him still before me ! 
For ever on his face to gaze, 
While all the Father He displays, 
In all His full assembled rays, 

To all the saints in glory. 



LAST ILLNESS. 231 



Not all things else are half so dear 
As His delightful presence here ; 

What must it be in heaven ! 
1 Tis heaven on earth to hear Him say, 
As here I journey day by day. 
' Poor sinner, cast thy fears away, 

Thy sins are all forgiven.' 

But how will His enraptur'd voice, 
Make my delighted heart rejoice, 

When I in glory hear Him ! 
While I for heavenly entrance wait, 
Before the everlasting gate, 
And Jesus, on his throne of state, 

Invites me to come near Him. 

' Come in, thou blessed, sit by me, 
With my own life I ransomed thee ; 

Come, taste my perfect favour : 
Come in, thou happy spirit, come, 
Thou now shalt be with me at home % 
Ye blissful mansions, make him room, 

For he must stay for ever.' 

When Jesus thus invites me in, 
How will the heavenly hosts begin 

To own their new relation ! 
4 Come in, come in,' the blissful sound, 
From every tongue will echo round, 
'Till all the crystal walls resound 

With ' God is my salvation-' 



It may truly be said, that her sick chamber was 
not only a striking scene of great composure of 
mind, and habitual resignation to the divine will, 
but also a school of spiritual instruction. She 



232 LAST ILLNESS. 

loved to bear her testimony to the divine reality of 
religion ; and often dwelt in her conversation on a 
meetness for heaven: of something wrought in us, 
as well as something done for us. In us : not to 
purchase salvation, which has been already pur- 
chased by Christ. Christ not only redeemed us 
from the curse, and bought our title to heaven, 
but has also purchased grace to sanctify our na- 
ture, and thereby give us a meetness for glory. 
This meetness springs from regeneration, or a spi- 
ritual life begun and carried on in the soul by the 
Holy Ghost, as a preparation for the spiritual 
worship of heaven. 

In the natural tendency of disease to irritability, 
she would again and again repeat the question 
— ' Am I not impatient V and the remark, * I 
fear I am impatient;' while, at the same time, set- 
ting forth a bright example of suffering patiently 
the will of God. She suffered, however, so much 
languor and weariness at times, from the oppres- 
sion of the complaint on her sinking constitution, 
that she scarcely knew what to do ; yet, under 
every paroxysm, or lengthened hour of pain, no 
murmuring expression w T as ever heard to fall from 
her lips. On the contrary, she would remark — 
* We could wish to go to heaven without suffer- 
ing, and to have our pathway made smooth and 
easy to our Father's house; but He appoints it 
differently ; and, oh ! many a stripe is necessary 



LAST ILLNESS. £33 

for the right discipline of the mind in our way to 
the mansions above, — the deepest, the best lessons, 
are learnt in affliction's school-hours.' ' When in 
heaven,' said a distinguished minister of Christ 
(Howels) ' we shall have a retrospective view of 
our path thither ; then we shall behold a thousand 
mercies we cannot now see, and glorify and praise 
the Lord for a thousand providential interferences 
at which we should now repine.' 

It was usual for me to read small portions of 
scripture every morning, before I knelt in prayer 
by the side of her dying bed ; and having finished 
reading those psalms which were considered most 
appropriate and consolatory for a sick chamber, 
she requested that the Epistle to the Ephesians 
might be next read — e It is a part of scripture, 
she observed, which I have read again and again, 
with peculiar delight and profit — it is so full of 
instruction— it combines every thing in doctrine 
and practice, for the belief, temper, life, and con- 
versation of the christian. And what an unspeak- 
able blessing is a real scriptural assurance of the 
love and favour of the Redeemer.' 

Who would part with the doctrine of assurance ? 
(O spiteful bitter thought ! — says Herbert). It is 
that which adds wings to faith, liveliness to hope, 
and cheerfulness to obedience ; it affords a sweet 
tranquillity, a heavenly repose, a peace which 
passeth all human understanding, and enables the 



234} LAST ILLNESS. 

dying christian to look calmly into the eternal 
world, and say, Farewell time, with all its sin and 
misery, and welcome eternity, with all its perfec- 
tion and happiness. 

As our conversation turned on the subject of 
prayer, she expressed her belief that there was not 
enough of praise, either in the family or in the 
sanctuary of God. " Only think," she remarked, 
" how delightful it would be, if at the close of our 
own family prayer, all would join as one voice, in 
the language so beautifully expressed in the Com- 
munion service — c Therefore with angels and arch- 
angels, and with all the company of heaven, we 
laud and magnify thy glorious name; evermore 
praising thee and saying — Holy, holy, holy, Lord 
God of hosts, heaven and earth are full of thy glory ; 
glory be to thee, O Lord most high ! ' If the heart 
were but lifted up with the voice in these words, 
surely the presence of the Lord would be further 
known amongst us, and we should more honour 
and glorify his divine name." 

It will not be forgotten, that Mrs. West lived in 
the affections and respect of the poor. They, with 
their children, had a large share of her attention 
in the village, when her health and strength per- 
mitted it. She would meet them one day in the 
week for cottage-reading of the scriptures ; and it 
was an interesting sight, to see how the poor ga- 
thered round her, and listened to her conversa- 






LAST ILLNESS. 235 

tional remarks as she read some chapter, or por- 
tion of the Bible to them. All confessed that they 
were much instructed and profited by her plain, 
familiar, affectionate manner in teaching them — 
and she had much pleasure in devoting a portion 
of her time for this purpose. ' I would not,' she 
would say, (in reference to these cottage-readings 
of the scriptures) meddle with things too high for 
me, but I love to talk to the poor in the cottage, 
with the Bible before me.' The remembrance of 
it was pleasing to her in her dying chamber; for* 
when conversing with her sister on the subject, 
she said, ' If God were pleased to restore me to 
health, I feel I could live in the cottages of the 
poor. I do feel such an inexpressible love for 
them, that I should spend much more of my time 
among them than I have ever yet done ; and I am 
sure that we should be more blessed in our own 
souls, if we were more diligent in visiting and in- 
structing the poor.' 

She had, indeed, a peculiarly happy talent, and 
superior method in communicating religious in- 
struction to poor children. They all came to her 
at the parsonage (who were capable of being 
taught) on each returning Sabbath ; and by her 
own kind affectionate manner in teaching, and 
simple illustrations in addressing them, she would 
so rivet their attention, that you at once saw their 
feelings were interested, and their minds impressed 



236 LAST ILLNESS. 

with the instruction that was given. And so 
anxious was she, that they should grow up in the 
knowledge and fear of the Lord, that she continued 
to instruct them, till her declining state of health 
obliged her (though with extreme reluctance,) to 
desist from it altogether. 

But whether in the cottages instructing the 
poor, or teaching their children in the Sabbath 
school, she felt how inefficient were all human 
means, to form the character aright before God, 
without a divine blessing. She was deeply con- 
scious that God alone " giveth the increase ;" and 
when she did not see that increase, which she so 
earnestly desired and prayed for, yet she steadily 
persevered in well doing ; waiting for that grace, 
which alone can make those means effectual to 
salvation; and we believe that God has not left her 
instructions without witness in the hearts of some 
of those, whose souls she was so anxious might be 
saved. 

In speaking on the subject of conversion, she re- 
marked — ' What a work it is ! — what a miracle 
wrought by the power of the Holy Spirit in the 
soul! renewing and reclaiming all its powers, and 
turning them again to God. Oh, what a divine 
blessing, to have the will, the judgment, the heart, 
the soul, and all the affections of the soul, influ- 
enced heavenwards! — to have that faith, which 
mingles with the realities of an eternal world ! 



LAST ILLNESS. 237 

Yet it must be so, as our Lord has told us (John 
iii. S) or we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. 
There must be this renewal of the mind ; a fore- 
taste of heavenly employment upon earth, a meet- 
ness for an inheritance among the saints in glory.' 
A person may have many constitutional good qua- 
lities, and many good points of character; all may 
be fair in the eyes of society, and yet the heart 
may not be right with Him who seeth not as man 
seeth. ' There is a specific difference (says an 
able writer,) between moral virtues and divine 
holiness. True holiness has all morality in it, but 
all that is called moral may be without true holi- 
ness, nor will it ever rise to it. Holiness must 
have a root of its own. He that best knew all truth, 
affirms it to be irrational to think otherwise, or 
to expect figs from thistles, Matt. vii. 16. What 
rises from the divine nature directs its course to- 
wards God, and ceases not until it arrives before 
Him ; what rises in self, terminates there, as a 
circle ; wheresoever it begins, there it ends, extend 
it ever so far.' 

The disorder had now made such progress, that 
it was apprehended she would sink at an early 
period, under the great exhaustion and debility to 
which she was occasionally subject. It pleased 
God, however, to raise her again from time to 
time, from that great prostration of strength which 
so often threatened her immediate dissolution, so 



238 LAST ILLNESS. 

as to prolong her life for some few weeks longer, 
that she might exemplify the power of his grace in 
all patience and long suffering. And none of those 
kind friends who had the privilege of witnessing 
her exemplary and tried patience, her great hu- 
mility, and gentleness in her deep affliction, will 
easily lose the impression. It appeared impossible 
for the human will to be more in accordance with 
the divine will, than hers. There was still that 
vitality in the system that enabled her to converse 
cheerfully in the full vigour of all her mental 
powers, on the all-important subject of an eternal 
state. And of all the scenes that surround us in 
the world, where shall we find one so instructive 
and animating as that of the dying Christian ; 
calmly shaking off her earthly fetters, " with hopes 
full of immortality " in the belief and hope, that 
the nearer she is to death, the nearer she is to her 
own country, the nearer a sight of her own land, 
the nearer to an end of her tempestuous voyage, 
and the nearer to a safe arrival in the delightful 
haven ; and saying, ' Oh, to be safely through all 
these difficulties, and to be landed on Canaan's 
shore : Oh, to be safely through the last conflict, 
and in heaven, enjoying the light of God's coun- 
tenance for ever. — " And now, Lord, what wait 
I for? my hope is in thee"' 

Conversing one day on the time of her depar- 
ture, and expressing her belief that it might be 



LAST ILLNESS. 289 

nearer than was expected — the question was 
asked by her sister, ' Does not the thought of 
meeting those dear friends who are gone before 
you to glory, and particularly your own dear chil- 
dren, give you great pleasure ? ' The reply was, 
* No ! I assure you, Emma, I hardly ever think of 
it — the idea of seeing my Saviour absorbs every 
other thought. — Oh ! to see him arrayed in all his 
majesty and glory, as having all power committed 
into his hands, both in heaven and earth — to be 
for ever with the Lord,— it is overwhelming. Oh ! 
I cannot express to you what I feel ' — then after 
a considerable pause, in which she seemed to be in 
deep meditation, she added, — " Yea, come, Lord 
Jesus, come quickly." 

She observed to her sister one evening after 
a violent attack of spasms, — ( I thought it had 
been all over just now.' And on being asked, 
whether she had any doubts or fears, at the time 
she thought she was seized with the convulsions of 
death ; she replied with a sweet expressive look, — - 
' Can I doubt my Saviour's promises? Can I 
doubt his unchanging love ? Can I doubt 
the faithfulness of his word ? Oh no ! he has 
redeemed my soul to God, by the one sacrifice 
of himself on the cross. His almighty arm sus- 
tains me ; of whom then, or of what should I be 
afraid ? His promises remain sure to all genera- 
tions ; and he will never leave nor forsake those 



240 LAST ILLNESS. 

who confide in his name — and remember, dear sis- 
ter, there is the same Saviour for you. Oh ! lie 
low at the foot of his cross, and you are safe. O 
yes, cling to the cross of Christ, — there only is 
peace ; remember I tell you so now, when I am on 
the confines of eternity.' 

On another occasion, in speaking of her dis- 
tressing sufferings, under the extremity of sick- 
ness, she stopped suddenly, saying, — * But why do 
I talk of my sufferings ? What are they to what 
my Saviour suffered for me ? a drop in the ocean ! 
I can truly say, that if it be the will of God, 
and for his glory, I should be willing to live on 
twenty years longer in this suffering state, yea, 
suffering more than I do now. Oh ! there is a 
great pleasure in bearing what God lays upon us, 
and in submitting ourselves to his will ; and oh, 
the joy of knowing that our all is appointed by a 
tender Father.' 

After a night of no rest, and much pain, she ob- 
served, as her sister approached her bed, * Oh, 
Emma, I have had such a night ! ' and upon grief 
being expressed at the sufferings she had endured, 
she said, - Yes, indeed I have suffered much bodily 
pain, but I did not mean that — I have had such a 
night of joy, and peace, and of happiness, that I 
cannot tell you. I seemed to be in the actual 
presence of my Redeemer — to speak to him face 
to face. I was quite lifted above pain, almost 



LAST ILLNESS. 2M 

above the world. He gave me power to plead 
with him, and to pour out my whole soul to him. 
I never experienced any thing like it before.' 
But it was remarked, { you do enjoy much com- 
munion and peace with God ' ' Oh, yes, but this 
was more — I never enjoyed the Saviour's presence 
so before. He was present with me, he supported 
me — but I cannot describe it, dear sister. If the 
foretastes of heaven, even here, are so refreshing 
and delightful to the soul, what will be the reality, 
when we come before his presence, and see him in 
all the beauty and glory of his kingdom ? ' 

It is remarkable that her mind retained its 
powers of reflection and composition throughout 
her long and severe illness, until the day of her 
death ; and while her compositions in verse claim 
much poetic merit, it is the tender pious feeling 
which pervades the following, (as well as her 
other poetry,) that stamps the mark of excellence 
upon it. 

Oh ! the shadows of earth are fast fading away, 

And my soul from her slumber is waking ; 

I see from afar, all beauteous and bright, 

O'er the tops of the mountains, a gleaming of light, 

The dawn of the morning is breaking. 

Oh ! waste not a sigh on earth's perishing joys 
Regret not the scenes that are fading ; 
For holier and purer the light that I see, 
A new world is opening its beauties to me, 
As this from my sight is receding. 
M 



242 LAST ILLNESS. 

Yet, there are ties on earth — oh ! so tender and true, 
And must not tears fall as they sever ? 
Oh, no ! tho' the knot may be loosened awhile, 
Yet the tears that are falling may flow with a smile ; 
For heaven will renew them for ever. 

Then waste not a sigh on this perishing world, 

It is heaven which is opening before me ; 

And now, that fair light grows more beauteous and clear, 

And noiv, the celestial city is near, 

And now, all around me is glory. 



As her affectionate children surrounded her 
with deep sympathy, and expressed their hope, 
that her oppressive weariness and pain would be 
alleviated, she said to them, ( Perhaps you cannot 
understand how it is, that God thus deals with 
me, and that I am so greatly tried ; but I can un- 
derstand it, — God is teaching me patience. It is a 
hard lesson to learn, but I feel how I wanted it 
all ; I would not be spared one hour of trial ; and 
I am even learning to bless God for all this pro- 
longed suffering, and for this illness so peculiarly 
adapted to teach me patience.' 

She observed, ' I have sometimes thought, that 
when I approached the brink of Jordan's dark 
river, my sins would appear so great, and so num- 
berless, that I should be quite overwhelmed ; but 
I have such views of the grand scheme of redemp- 
tion, of the wonderful atonement and all-sufficient 
sacrifice of the Redeemer, that the catalogue of 



LAST ILLNESS. 243 

my iniquities, vast and dark as it is, seems but a 
speck in the ocean. Such is the adaptation of 
divine mercy in the gospel of Jesus, to all my spi- 
ritual necessities, that it exceeds all that I need 
and all that I can desire. None however but 
those who have experienced it, can conceive the 
deep awfulness of the thought, that we are really 
standing on the brink of eternity, that we shall 
soon see Christ as he is. Oh, " when I awake up 
after his likeness I shall be satisfied," for " thou, 
O Lord God, art the thing that I long for," in 
thee have I taken refuge from all sin, and care, and 
sorrow : and in thee my soul hath found her peace, 
and joy, and happiness.' 

Not the rudest wind that blows, 
Can endanger my repose ; 
Not the wildest waves that beat, 
Can disturb my safe retreat. 

Within the veil, within the veil, 

My anchor firm is cast ; 

The billows may* foam, and the vessel may sink, 

But all will be peace at last. 

The attachment of her spirit to the Redeemer 
was wonderful ; his very name would frequently 
fill her eyes with tears, and overwhelm her feel- 
ings; and amidst the changing frames of mind, 
which every one must of course undergo when suf- 
fering a long and lingering decay of natural life, 
that name could always recal peace and rest to 

M 2 



244 LAST ILLNESS. 

her weary spirit. When her bodily exhaustion 
was extreme, and natural strength was too feeble 
to admit of much exercise of the faculties of mind, 
she could quietly resign herself into his tender 
care, believing that he who had died for her, would 
never leave her in her most trying moments. In 
fact, her simple reliance on her unseen Lord was 
so constant, that it can be compared to nothing, 
but to the full and sure reliance of an affectionate 
child upon a tender parent. 

She would frequently refer to Ephes. i. 19, as a 
subject for conversation, observing, " if such be 
the power, (as the Apostle mentions,) that works 
within us, what manner of persons might we not 
be ! " The degree in which her own soul was 
made " alive to God" by the working of this 
mighty power, might be exemplified by an occur- 
rence, seemingly perhaps trivial. As her affec- 
tionate son was reading to her an account of one 
of the kings of Judah, when he came to a passage 
where it is said " that his heart was perfect with 
the Lord," she stopped him, and said, ' she could 
not bear it, it was too much for her,' and she 
wept. Thus did she shew the tenderness of her 
spirit towards the Lord her God. 

Many kind friends visited her in the chamber of 
affliction, and could bear testimony to the cheer- 
fulness with which she conversed on subjects of 
the deepest interest. There was no gloom there ; 



LAST ILLNESS. 245 

and you saw in the calm sweet expression of her 
countenance, the index of that solid peace, and 
those immortal hopes which religion had imparted 
to her soul. Death seemed stripped of all its ter- 
rors, and truth so prevailing in all its consolations, 
that it was felt good to be there. A friend says, 
' I sat some time to-day with dear Mrs. West, 
who spoke much to me of the need of a " meetness 
for the inheritance of the saints, and of being new 
creatures in Christ Jesus," and not of mere faith, 
saying that she made a point with her servants 
and others, of pressing on their attention the work 
of religion, observing how necessary it was, that 
the principle of religion should be wrought out 
daily in every thing. She found this so necessary, 
as it was one thing to be thinking of, and talking 
of, the doctrines of religion ; and another to live 
them out ; ever bearing in mind that a living, saving 
faith, is an active principle.' 

■ Before I left, I read Rev. xxi. and xxii ; and 
on reading xxii. 14, she spoke of the word * right,' 
as not meaning our right as a claim, but our right 
as a gift; and during our further conversation, 
she expressed her belief, that the doctrines of uni- 
versal redemption, and particular salvation, were 
doctrines revealed in the Scriptures ; but at the 
same time, she cast away the doctrine of reproba- 
tion ; observing that " the whole harmonious system 
of the gospel was a system of divine mercy, so that 



2ifi LAST ILLNESS. 

the sinner who rejects the counsel of God against 
himself, and will not come unto him by Jesus 
Christ, will be left without excuse, seeing that 
" God will have all men to be saved, and to come 
to the knowledge of the truth." 1 Tim. ii. 4., 
adding, to know how we are to be saved in Christ, 
is doctrine, but to live Christ, is religion.' 

On another visit, she spoke of the education of 
her children, and of them with much satisfaction, 
which made me ask, what she thought was the 
reason of such failures in the education of children 
by their religious parents. Her remarks on my 
question I shall never forget : ' Take care not to 
use severity > — draw by affection and love, — do not 
make religion too much of a task ; religion is pro- 
bably much felt by children at an early period of 
life, and when through the further prosecution of 
their studies, their attention is drawn more from 
religious subjects ; do not let it be supposed that 
religion has left them. Do not talk and worry 
children on the subject, but seize on any word 
and fit opportunity, and improve it, and by God's 
blessing you may cherish the hope, that at the age 
of seventeen or eighteen, religion may become a 
fixed principle in their minds.' 

At another time, when I felt it a privilege to 
converse with her, as a dying Christian, she said 
that " as reconciled to God in Christ Jesus, she 
had no fear of death, that she had so meditated 



LAST ILLNESS. 247 

upon it in the faith of her Redeemer, that she 
really did not wish to recover from her present 
severe illness, and that she should feel disappointed 
were this to be the case, which to all human ap- 
pearance was scarcely possible. Spoke much of 
the Bible as a whole, testifying of Christ from the 
beginning to the end, expressed a deep conviction 
of sin, and of nothing in self, wherewithal to come 
before God." " None but Christ, none but 
Christ," was her repeated saying. She mentioned 
Legh Richmond's conversation on his death-bed 
with a clerical friend. l Brother, brother, strong 
evidences, nothing but strong evidences will do at 
such an hour as this.' But said he, ' I have looked 
here and looked there for them ; all have failed 
me, and so I cast myself on the sovereign, free 3 
and full grace of God in the covenant by Christ 
Jesus : and there, brother, there I have found 
peace.' What struck me very forcibly, through- 
out her conversation was, her confidence, calm- 
ness, cheerfulness, and simple looking unto Jesus. 
In the last visit whichl made, she expressed much 
pleasure in having studied the Bible ; and it was 
delightful to hear her speak on different parts of 
scripture, as they were mentioned in conversation. 
In speaking of the righteousness of Christ, she 
thought ' the righteousness imparted, and to be 
wrought out in us by the Holy Spirit, was not, 
generally, sufficiently dwelt upon in conjunction 



248 LAST ILLNESS. 

with the doctrine of justification by faith. She 
did not like those statements which led people to 
suppose that correct doctrinal views were every 
thing. There was a putting on Christ, — a walking 
in Christ, to the careful maintaining of good 
works, equally to be insisted on. She thought it 
a matter of great moment, that we should at all 
times, and under all circumstances of our life, 
" have respect unto all the commandments of the 
Lord " — as it has been said, and well said, ' Be 
men of God every where, in public, as well as in 
private.' She considered it not profitable to let the 
mind run on questions of controversy ; but esteem- 
ed it a great mercy, amidst the fluctuating opinions 
of the day, to be kept by the power of God, in the 
simplicity of the faith of the gospel. Spoke with 
much joy, of being soon with Christ in glory ' — 
and it will ever remain in my recollection, the 
energy and kind manner, with which she said, 
on my leaving the room, — ' God bless you for 
ever.' 

It was seen by all who visited her, that she had 
attained very high graces of the spiritual life, that 
her high delight was in God her Saviour, and the 
infinite concerns of eternity. And who would not 
be willing to live a life of trial and suffering 
affliction, to be taught the lessons she was taught, 
to be conformed as she was conformed, " to His 
image, who was made perfect through suffering ? " 



LAST ILLNESS. 219 

The more weariness here, the oftener are we led 
to recline on his breast, as Herbert says, — 

' That at least if goodness lead me not, 
Yet weariness may toss me to his breast.' 

' Discipline,' however, she observed, ' is neces- 
sary even to the very last ; but it is only for an 
appointed time.' But what a severe discipline do 
some need ; the heaviest afflictions, even the blow 
of a sledge-hammer, — yet are they our greatest 
blessings when they lead us * to a throne of grace,' 
( they are the files and the whet-stones,' says 
Bishop Hall, * that set an edge on our devotions.' 

February came, and brought with it no relief 
from suffering, but rather an increased debility 
and languor, and a more extreme exhaustion at 
times than had been experienced before. In re- 
marking on this feeling of increasing weakness, 
she said — ' I think you are all deceived by my 
countenance, which you tell me is not so very 
much altered, but my end is nearer than you ex- 
pect. I feel, however, that I must be weaker yet 
before I die. The house must be shaken a little 
more before it comes down.' And as her strength 
further declined, she would often say with a live- 
liness of expression, ' I am not yet reduced 
enough,' and seemed to welcome every increasing 
symptom of dissolution, as another step towards 
heaven. Welcome, (she said) that affliction and those 
M 5 



250 LAST ILLNESS. 

trials, although they lay us in the very dust, so that 
they wing our souls for their flight homewards, and 
teach us to repose all our hopes, all our sorrows, 
all our cares, in the bosom of eternal love.' 

The following interesting conversation is men- 
tioned by her son : — ( I was sitting by the side of 
the bed one morning, and said to my dear mother, 
Do you not think, that we, each of us, have in one 
way or another, a trial given to us, such as Abra- 
ham's was to him, and that if we looked out for it, 
and took it, we might even get Abraham's faith ? 
The question at once so affected her, that it 
brought a flood of tears. I was sorry, and felt 
grieved that I had put it, and felt ashamed to 
think that I had unwittingly caused pain to one so 
dear to me. I thought she was reproaching herself 
for some secret drawing back from such a trial. 
But what was my unspeakable delight, and thank- 
fulness ; when she was able to speak, and told me 
her thoughts. f Oh ! my child, my child, I do 
think so — I think (though evidently afraid of say- 
ing it,) I have had such a trial — yes, when you, 
my child, were attacked with the small-pox at 
Cambridge, and were very ill, and I was not able 
to go to you. — Oh ! who shall describe the suf- 
fering — the agony, the bitter agony of my heart, 
until I fell down at his feet and said, O Lord, 
take him, — take my Isaac ! and then after I had 
fully given you up, I was peaceful and calm/ 



LAST ILLNESS. 251 

It is thus seen, that the power and effect of the 
principle of faith, was strongly manifested after the 
like example of Abraham, in humble resignation, 
and child-like dependence on the will of God. 
The son was restored for the encouragement of 
that faith which worketh by love, and to gladden 
the heart of the tried and affectionate parent. 
When God confers grace on any one in a distin- 
guished manner, there can be no doubt but that 
that grace will be tried ; yet shall the afflicted 
"joy in the Lord, and rejoice in the God of their 
salvation." 

She was much comforted by the following letter, 
from a kind and greatly-esteemed friend. ' As 
you have been so long afflicted, and long illness 
must wear us out at last, I think it but due to 
our long friendship and fellowship in the gospel, 
to avail myself of what little time may remain in 
the flesh, to offer one or two suggestions, which 
under God, may be the means of confirming your 
hopes, (were this necessary,) in our common Sa- 
viour, now I trust becoming every day more pre- 
cious, as we are drawing nearer to our end. When 
we look back on life with all its variety of events, 
how truly does it appear a discipline to sever our 
hearts from the world, and to fix them in heaven ? 
In our earliest childhood, what are all our tears 
and miseries, but hints and habits of sorrow; 
showing the true character of life, and declaring 



252 LAST ILLNESS, 

from the bitter experience of every day, that hap- 
piness is not in childhood? Is it then in boyhood 
or in youth ? No, each condition is referring it- 
self to future satisfaction in the condition above it, 
and it is only as we find God to be our rest, that 
we have any idea what satisfaction means. Oh ! 
how blessed the hour then, when it pleases God 
to reveal his Son in us. I know no one topic of 
such real gratitude, and such deep feeling of praise 
to our heavenly Father, as the reflection that from 
early life I have known the true God in Christ, 
and thus have not only been saved from a repe- 
tition of the sins of my former life, but have 
since that time been admitted into so much positive 
happiness ; still I see, and I have seen it since that 
time more clearly, that my life has been a life of 
discipline ; to wean me from the world, and to pre- 
pare me for heaven. I have been running my own 
peculiar race which has been set before me. I 
have had therein to pass through the same valley 
of suffering with those most dear to me, together 
with such ordinary losses, as we cannot pass 
through this world without ; to many sufferings of 
this character, you have had also to pass through 
a long and weary journey of ill health, which is 
gradually, I hear, bringing you down to the grave, 
the end of all your labours. And do you, my dear 
friend, now see that all your sufferings have been 
but a tissue of mercy to prepare you for a better 



LAST ILLNESS. 253 

world ? Do you see the machinery which God has 
constructed in all your various experience for this 
purpose ? how harmoniously you have had sorrow 
and joy, depression and support — each in its alter- 
nation maturing you for glory : and like the fruit 
exposed to the varieties of the weather, all tend- 
ing to ripen it into richer flavor, — so all things are 
working together for good in the purposes of saving 
mercy. How rich an exhibition of divine wisdom 
and love will be presented to our contemplation 
hereafter, when we think of the variety of dispen- 
sations which have been ordained for us respec- 
tively ; and that while our election has been in a 
Saviour, every tear and pain has been ordered in 
Him also. Long illness is not without itspecul:' Q1 " 
advantage : the spirits of some of us require to be 
kept under habitual depression ; and as a large 
portion of Christian excellence consists of the 
passive graces, — indeed it may be said the largest 
portion, — it does seem, that that condition of suf- 
fering is necessary, by which " tribulation is to 
work patience ; patience, experience ; and expe- 
rience, hope," &c. And it is not a little remark- 
able, that when St. Peter proposes to us the cha- 
racter of Christ as an example, it is as a suffering 
Saviour that he is so proposed. May we, my dear 
friend, cheerfully and resolutely follow his steps, 
and doubtless, in due time we shall reap, if we 
faint not. 



254> LAST ILLNESS. 

' Let us comfort one another also with the re- 
flection, that happen what will to us to complete 
our probation, — " the night is far spent, the day 
is at hand ; " — under its brightest scenes of bliss, 
life after all, has overshadowed them with much 
of the gloom of night, and what remains is only 
as the remnant of declining day; and while on 
account of our families, and of the Church, we 
may well desire to remain, and both to bear and 
do what the will of God may yet have in store 
for us on earth ; yet it is pleasant to keep our eye 
mainly fixed on those everlasting hills, where faith 
beholds the Sun of righteousness rising in peerless 
majesty, with full healing in his wings ; where 
faith shall be exchanged for a vision, which can 
never know assault or interruption morex Let us 
stand then on the Pisgah of faith, and survey the 
whole land before us, and daily grow in knowledge 
and enjoyment of that love of the Father, from 
which our salvation flows — that grace of the Son 
in and by which it is wrought both for us, and in 
us, — and that blessed communion of the Spirit 
which familiarizes us with views and thoughts of 
heaven. To God's gracious care and love I com- 
mit you, my dear friend, and with every blessing 
may you continue your course, till grace is con- 
summated in glory.' 

She was much distressed with an almost inces- 
sant sickness at this period, which was peculiarly 



LAST ILLNESS. 255 

trying to her very weak frame, so that she would 
occasionally say, ' Oh ! when will the work be per- 
fected ! — the means my heavenly Father sees it 
necessary to use, in very faithfulness, are so very 
painful, that I can but daily lay my soul, all suf- 
fering as it is, in the dust before him, with this 
feeling — Do what thou wilt, O Lord, so thou save 
my soul at last. Oh ! it cannot be long,' — 

' The storms of life must soon be past, 
The evening shadows cannot last, 
And all beyond is heaven.' 



Lord of hosts ! and King of kings 
Hide, oh, hide beneath thy wings, 
One, whose only hope thou art, 
Sole refuge of my aching heart. 

From thy azure throne on high, 
In the realms beyond the sky, 
See, oh ! see my soul's distress, 
In this weary wilderness. 

Weary of this world of sin, 
Weary of this strife within, 
Oh! my God! I fly to thee, 
Thou can'st save a worm like me. 

Oh ! I long, I sigh for rest, 
Take, oh ! take me to thy breast 
Let me here no longer roam, 
Heavenly Father take me home. 



256 LAST ILLNESS. 

1 Oh ! ' she would sometimes say, ' it is weary, 
weary work — sometimes there is a rising irri- 
table feeling — sometimes a coming fear — some- 
times I am almost overwhelmed with a thousand, 
thousand feelings which I cannot describe ; then 
again, all, yes, all subsides into a peaceful calm, 
so still, so sweet. Father, thy will be done. Oh ! 
I wish for nothing besides ; I cannot now bear the 
least exertion, without an immediate faintness 
coining on, which is new to me, and my pulse, I 
am told, is sadly more feeble.' 

Oh ! I long to be free from pain, 
From sorrow, and suffering, and sin ; 

To take my flight, 

To y on realms of light, 
Where all is pure, and all is bright, 
And even man's heart is clean. 

I long to be gone, 

To those worlds unknown, 

Where Jesus dwells on his azure throne ; 

My sins forgiven, 

His smile, my heaven, 
My spirit His, and His alone. 



Although her daily conversation at this time 
did not seem to indicate that she apprehended 
immediate death, yet she felt it more sensibly ap- 
proaching ; and with an expression of interest, 
she enquired of me one morning very particularly 
* when Easter would fall ; ' — and when told, she 



LAST ILLNESS. 257 

said — ' I have a strong presentiment that I shall 
die at that time. The 22nd of March, (she added) 
is my birth-day, and I shall then be fifty years of 
age.' She contemplated this period as the latest, 
when she should be put into the possession of that 
inheritance, the earnest of which she had so long 
enjoyed, not merely as a pledge, but as a part of 
the possession — and indeed it was plain to all, 
that heaven had already begun in her soul. The 
pressure of disease still weighed down the spirit at 
times; but at intervals of alleviation, the spirit 
would rise to the employment of praise and joy, 
and the heavenly words would be uttered — ' Glory 
be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy 
Ghost.' It was like a cork forcibly kept under 
water ; take the pressure off, and immediately it 
rises. She had learnt the tunes, and nothing was 
wanting but the putting off of this body of sin 
and death, to burst out into the harmony of 
heaven, In her own words, ' the death of the 
body was but the death of all suffering and sor- 
row,' — and the body being laid aside, she was 
ready to join the song of the redeemed, " Worthy 
is the Lamb that was slain." Rev. v. 12, 13. 

But, Christian reader, how painfully humbling 
to reflect on the little progress that may have been 
made by us towards that eminence of faith and 
holiness, which she reached (through looking unto 
Him who " was made perfect through suffering,") 



258 LAST ILLNESS. 

in her way to the kingdom of heaven. O may 
her bright example further stimulate and encou- 
rage us in the faith of the same Gospel ; and may 
the consolations which abounded in her by Christ 
Jesus, abound in us also. What was it but a life 
of frequent suffering, that taught her so much ? 
What was it that made all the unseen and glorious 
realities of an eternal world so visible to her soul ? 
What, but affliction after affliction cutting the 
tenderest ties, which her most tender feelings were 
susceptible of ! It was then that Jesus Christ re- 
vealed himself to her in the power of His word ; 
so that in the desolation of her heart she was 
glad, and rejoiced in His name. Though we do 
not pray for sufferings, yet, let us at least, ear- 
nestly pray that the soul's afflictions as they befal 
us, may be so sanctified, that we may have the 
like precious faith, and " grow in grace" and in 
the knowledge of the gospel. 

On going to her bed-side one morning, she said, 
(having had a night of increasing pain and suffer- 
ing,) ' I have had, oh ! such sl night as I never had 
before — but I have been wonderfully supported, I 
have been above it all. He has been to me all 
through life, faithfulness and truth ; but oh ! 
how have I returned it with sin and ingratitude.' 
It was mentioned, remember the whole bearing of 
the 43rd chapter of Isaiah — " I, even I am He 
that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own 



LAST ILLNESS. 259 

sake, and will not remember thy sins." Her re- 
mark was, ' yes, that is just it.' 

At another time, she said most solemnly. ' Oh ! 
I cannot tell you the happiness I feel in being 
ready to meet my Saviour — it occupies all my 
thoughts. I have been so led to realize His pre- 
sence, that I have as it were talked with Him. 
He gives me power to plead with Him, and I have 
been quite as out of the world — as one of them 
above — 

' All light and love before me.' 

Praise is the only employment left for me now ; I 
can only add together, — my adorable, great, and 
glorious Redeemer — the only light of my life — the 
only hope of my heart — my rock — my refuge — 
my hiding-place— my all in all. Do get Augus- 
tine's Meditations and help me, for words fail me, 
in expressing what I feel, in the joy and gladness 
of my heart. 

1 How is it possible,' she observed, * for one, 
whom He has taught to love Him — on whose 
word He has caused me to put all my trust, to 
perish at the last ? He will never let me be taken 
captive out of his hands, to be made the sport of 
devils ! Oh, no ! it can never, never be.' 

' Can a soul lie bids be free 
Return to bondage ? Never ! ' 

"Fear not, little flock, it is your Father's good 



260 LAST ILLNESS. 

pleasure to give you the kingdom." ' Believe this, 
when the buoyancy of youth is over, and you 
think you have done, and can do nothing for your 
Saviour, The christian is sometimes apt to despise 
too much his own services, but Jesus Christ takes 
more notice of them, than he may be willing to 
think. Can a cup of cold water be given to Him, 
without His acknowledging it ? ' 

She took particular pleasure in the cxxxth 
Psalm, and in speaking of other parts of scripture 
on which her mind delighted to dwell. She was 
fond of looking upon the whole gospel plan of 
salvation, as one grand system of divine mercy, 
made known to the patriarchs and prophets, by 
promise, and shadowed forth through various types 
and ceremonies, till the light of the full orb of 
day shone upon the world ; and the great mystery 
of our redemption, which was founded in prophecy, 
was confirmed by miracles in the person of Jesus 
Christ. She much admired those views which 
Mr. Simeon expressed on his death-bed, and made 
the remark, e they are exactly my own, and are a 
great comfort to me, now that I am drawing nigh 
to my grave.' ' It is to the principles (said this 
aged dying minister of the Lord Jesus,) that I look; 
-—it is on the broad grand principles of the gospel 
that I repose ; — it is not on any particular promise, 
here or there, any little portion of the word in 
which some people seem to take comfort, but I 



LAST ILLNESS. 261 

wish to look to the grand whole — at the vast 
scheme of redemption, as from eternity to eternity. 
I wish to point out this peculiarity in my case. I 
am not solicitous so much about this feeling or 
that — this state or that, as upon keeping before 
me the grand purposes of Jehovah from eternity to 
eternity ! in taking the grand revelation of himself 
which God has given us — then, I rest upon Him, 
and not upon myself. I do not depend on feelings 
and thoughts which are changing and uncertain, 
but I am kept by Him who changes not ! For, 
after all, what are a man's best prayers and thoughts 
before Him ? It cannot depend upon a few poor, 
broken, puling words — nor do I depend upon 
them — but again I say — i" take the glorious and 
majestic discoveries which God has made to me of 
himself, and there I rest. 1 

In a day of much weariness and pain, she re- 
marked — ' Where can the dying eye fix itself, but 
on the cross of a crucified suffering Saviour ? 
There, I would ever look, and I am greatly com- 
forted with the thought that in Christ we die — 
with Him we are buried — and shall be raised 
again from the bed of the dust, so as hereafter to 
be glorified with Him in the kingdom of heaven. 
Oh ! my soul, let patience have its perfect work ; 
and after a few more revolutions of the earth, all 
will be well.' 



262 LAST ILLNESS. 

' glorious hour ! blest abode ! 
I shall be near, and like my God ! 
And flesh and sin no more control, 
The sacred pleasures of the soul. 

My flesh shall slumber in the ground, 
'Till the last trumpet's joyful sound ; 
Then burst its chains with sweet surprise, 
And in my Saviour's image rise.' 

Conversing with me one morning about her 
death, she said, ' I feel an unusual degree of ex- 
haustion about me ; and as my strength seems now 
to be fast declining, I wish to speak to you about 
some few little things which I wish attended to 
when I die.' Then, with the greatest calm- 
ness and composure she mentioned them, and the 
way in which she wished some few articles to be 
distributed among our dear children, and in the 
family. At the same time, taking a mourning 
ring from her finger, and placing it on my own, 
she requested that it might be worn as a memorial 
of those children who had died, and who had been 
so entwined in affection around her heart. Per- 
ceiving me affected unto tears, she said with much 
self-possession, and with her own peculiar sweet 
expression of countenance, ' Well, I perceive that 
you cannot bear this now — but I do not like to 
put off saying everything till the very last.' 

When relieved a little from the pressure of bo- 
dily suffering and languor, she often surprised her 
friends by the liveliness of her conversation. She 



LAST ILLNESS. 263 

would not hear of doubts and darkness, so as to be 
dwelt upon ; but would speak with such animation 
of the vital power of faith, and of the ever-cheering, 
sure and certain hope of the gospel of Christ, that 
a christian friend, whom she much esteemed, 
said, that 'it was impossible to hear her converse 
with the interest and delight that she did on the 
subject of religion, without being warmed by the 
sunshine of her bright christian character.' 

It pleased God, that she should still enjoy the 
full possession of all her mental faculties. She 
continued to write verses, on those subjects which 
were a never-failing source of consolation, peace 
and joy to her mind ; and she manifested through 
Divine grace, a wonderful combination of humility 
and joy, as she drew nearer and nearer to the time 
when the pilgrimage of her life was to terminate. 

Oh, look intently forward, 

Over this stormy sea, 
Beyond those raging billows foam 

And tell me what you see. 

I see a beauteous light, 

And ever as I watch, 
Darting across the distant heaven, 

Its glorious rays I catch. 

Oh welcome, welcome news, he said, 

Long has this aching sight, 
Watched for the first faint glimmering 

Of that celestial light. 



264 LAST ILLNESS. 

But look again and tell me, 

For high these billows rise, 
My fragile bark is sinking fast, 

What sight now meets thine eyes ? 

No transient gleamings now, 

But a stedfast glorious light, 
Shining in splendid peacefulness, 

Meets my enraptured sight. 

Arise, poor weary voyager, 

And cast away the oar, 
Thy vessel is midst breakers now, 

But thou near'st a glorious shore. 

That wearied voyager started up, 

For the pilot-boat was come, 
Oh, dost thou not know, where thou art, my child ? 

My God ! — Oh, it is my home ! 

My long, long looked-for home, he said, 

And he shouted, Victory ; 
And lightly they passed those breakers among 

And now he has joined that heavenly song, 
Glory to God on high. 



On entering the chamber, at a time when she 
was suffering much pain, and expressing a wish 
that something might be done to alleviate her pre- 
sent sufferings, she said with calm resignation, — 
c The clock can tick but once' — alluding to an ad- 
mirable little tract, in which the pendulum of a 
clock is personified, for the purpose of proving, 
that our heavenly Father does not lay upon us in 
any one moment, a greater portion of suffering 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 265 

than he enables us to bear in that moment. The 
pendulum has to make * eighty-six thousand four 
hundred vibrations/ or, a clock has to make so many 
ticks in a day. If it were directed to execute all 
these at once, it might justly complain; but it 
should be remembered that the pendulum is re- 
quired to vibrate, or the clock to tick but once in a 
second; so that an ample space of time is given 
for the eighty-six thousand four hundred vibra- 
tions in the twenty-four hours, without hurry, 
impatience or fatigue. ' If we had to walk a hun- 
dred miles, we should still have to set but one step 
at a time, and this process continued, would infal- 
libly bring us to our journey's end. Fatigue gene- 
rally begins, and is always increased, by calculating 
in a minute the exertion of hours.' 

' Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us 
recollect that we have not to sustain all its toils, 
to endure all its sufferings, or to encounter all its 
crosses at once* One moment comes, laden with 
its own little burdens, then flies, and is suc- 
ceeded by another, no heavier than the last ; if 
one could be borne, so can another and another. 
Even in looking forward to a single day, the spirit 
may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the 
duties, the labours, the trials to temper and pa- 
tience, that may be expected; now this is un- 
justly laying the burden of many thousand mo- 



266 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

raents upon one ; sufficient unto the moment is the 
trouble thereof.' 

' I have lived to see, (she remarked) and feel, 
that vanity pervades every thing but eternity. 
There are moments when one is weary of every 
thing, weary of life, weary of the world, weary 
even of enjoyment, weary of sorrow, sin, and suf- 
fering, weary of fine ideas, or fine prospects, or 
beauty of scenery ; weary of the sublime, weary 
of sentimentality, weary of all speculative fancies 
in religion, weary of new things in religion, or 
new doctrines, weary of every thing but " Jesus 
Christ and him crucified" " the same yesterday, 
to-day, and for ever" the sinner's friend, the 
sinner's refuge, the sinner's eternal portion of hap- 
piness. Oh, I cannot tell you how many times in 
the day, and during the hours of night, I repeat 
that one name, Jesus ; it seems to soothe every pain, 
to calm every restless thought, to quiet all anxiety, 
to raise my whole heart at once from earth to hea- 
ven. I am indeed willing to die as a pardoned 
sinner at the foot of his cross.' 

I saw her much affected one morning on going 
into the room ; and as she wept, she told me, how 
much joy and comfort she had had in hearing her 
affectionate son pray by her bed-side, with his two 
dear sisters. * The scene (she added,) was almost too 
much for me — it well nigh overwhelmed me with 
joy and gratitude, I have scarcely recovered it yet.' 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 267 

March. — It was evident that the impression 
was still on her mind, that she should not survive 
this month ; and when she saw that the idea 
which she entertained, of her death being actually 
as near as her birth-day, affected us, she would 
say, " Why do you weep ? Why not rather re- 
joice ? For why should you wish me to continue 
here, in the suffering affliction which I have to 
undergo ? " 

1 I was reading to my dear Mother, one Sunday 
evening,' (said her affectionate daughter,) l The 
last days of Gonthier,' when she said, " Oh my 
child, prepare for such a scene. I feel that my 
death must now be very soon, but like him I can 
say, * Jesus is my all, my portion for eternity, 
my exceeding great reward.' Oh, his name alone 
supports me, I need nothing else, may we meet 
at his right hand ; but for this thought, the sepa- 
ration that will soon take place, would indeed be 
painful to me. I would that I might take you 
with me ; but a few years, my child, will soon be 
past. Jesus has led me through the wilderness, 
and I feel persuaded that he will lead you through 
also. Earth is a dreary, dreary place : no home 
for us on its cold bleak shores ; our home is on 
high ; there, when time's short day of sorrow and 
suffering is over, we shall meet, I trust, and be 
together for ever and ever." 

' I know (said she,) that the days are coming in 
N 2 



268 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

which I shall have no power of myself any longer, 
to keep hold upon him : then he must hold me 
himself entirely. I must then lean back, like a 
helpless infant, into his arms, and he must sup- 
port me." 

My Saviour, my Saviour, I fly to thine amis, 
Oh, shield me, protect me, subdue mine alarms ; 
When fearful and trembling, and weak and distrest, 
My Saviour, my Saviour, I fly to thy breast 

Oh, stretch out thine arms, as to Peter of old, 
When sinking amidst the wild billows that rolled ; 
Like him I shall stand all unhurt on the wave, 
Be thou, Lord, but near me, and mighty to save. 



On feeling worse than usual one morning, (the 
disease appearing to affect her face,) she said, 
( that she could not help shedding a flood of tears, 
to think the change really was near.' 



Oh, when shall I close these eyes 
Upon sorrow, and sickness, and pain, 
Oh, when shall this aching head lay down 
And never ache again. 

Oh, when shall the last last tear 

Have been shed over human woes, 

Oh, when shall the last wild throb be hushed 

In eternal deep repose. 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 269 

Oh, when shall this heating heart 
Be as pure and as still, for ever 
As the sea of glass before the throne, 
And beat again — ah, never. 

Oh, that hour is hastening on 
In its deep awfulness ; 
My soul, thou must soon be gone 
To far other worlds than this. 

Oh, in that hour of helplessness, 

My God, when I turn to thee ; 

When heart, and flesh, and strength shall fail, 

And human love be of no avail, 

Then, be Thou all to me. 



She rested so fearlessly on her Saviour, that I 
never saw, or heard her express any nervous 
shrinking at dying. On the contrary, as she ap- 
proached nearer and nearer to death and the 
grave, they appeared more and more inviting to 
her ; she could say, with the appropriating faith of 
Job, " I know that my Redeemer liveth," or, in 
the full triumph of faith, exclaim with St. Paul, 
" O death, where is thy string ? O grave, where 
is thy victory ? The sting of death is sin, and the 
strength of sin is the law ; but thanks be to God, 
who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 1 Cor. xv. 55—57. 



270 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

§fyt forote on f)er fcetf, a feiu lints at a time, tf)e follow 
mg flote to Ijev Sfeter $!lr£. $. b^o fyao' returned 
to i)tx familv, after a bt^tt to Cattle. 

Dearest, dearest Sister, 

In this way I must once more hold a little con- 
verse with you. Dear sister, your visit and 
soothing affection was every thing to me, but not 
good for me to have always ; no! no ! my soul, wait 
thou only upon God. God is our Alpha and 
Omega, so indeed ought he to be ; and not until 
he is, shall our souls be calm. Oh, then, who can 
tell the peace ? Caroline, my dear sister, spring 
is at hand, with all its freshness and beauty, 
green, and young, and gay, just as it used to be, 
when some thirty years ago, it just called into 
existence in our young hearts, a thousand, thou- 
sand feelings, as enchanting and fresh as itself. 
Oh, a thrill goes through me yet, when I remem- 
ber all, all are gone — but oh ! what remains ? 
Soon, when you walk out with your children, you 
will be able to look up and gaze into the deep 
blue sky — then think of me, that is, of eternity, — 
pure, and still, and deep, as calm as the sea of 
glass before the throne. 

Dear sister, what is our life ? What should it 
be ? A resurrection life — just dwell on these 
thoughts — " crucified with Christ, buried, as- 
cended with him, in heart and mind dwelling with 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 271 

him" not now looking up to heaven from earth, 
but looking down from our high resting-place 
upon all here. How does it look ? 

Dear Caroline, a morning of renewed mercies ; 
to-morrow the physician will again kindly see me ; 
well, dear sister, this will all soon end. Oh ! my 
Father, thou knowest when, and that is enough for 
thy poor child. 

' Caroline, this is a sweet calm Sabbath-day, — is 
your mind calm ? Are your thoughts in heaven ? 
The imaginings of your heart, are they mingling 
with eternity ? Oh, let us enter more within the 
veil, and there abide. God bless you with all a 
Father's blessing, and all yours. 

Ever, ever your own, 
H. W.' 



It was evident she could not long survive ; and 
being one day removed to the "sofa, she calmly 
repeated those beautiful verses out of the Sabbath 
Harp. 

' O thou God, who hearest prayer, 
Every hour, and every where ! 
Listen to my feeble breath, 
Now I touch the gates of death : 
For his sake, whose blood I plead, 
Hear me in my hour of need. 

Hear and save me, gracious Lord, 
For my trust is in thy word; 



272 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

Wash me from the stain of sin, 
That thy peace may rule within ; 
May I know myself, thy child, 
Ransom'd, pardon'd, reconciled. 

Dearest Lord, may I so much, 
As thy garment's hem but touch ; 
Or, but raise my languid eye, 
To the cross where thou didst die ; 
It shall make my spirit whole, 
It shall heal, and save my soul. 

Thou art merciful to save ! 

Thou hast snatch' d me from the grave! 

I would kiss the chastening rod, 

O my Father and my God ! 

Only hide not thou thy face, 

God of all-sufficient grace ! 

Leave me not, my strength, my trust ! 
Oh ! remember, I am dust ! 
Leave me not again to stray, 
Leave me not the tempter's prey : 
Fix my heart on things above; 
Make me happy in thy love.' 



The whole tendency of her thoughts was towards 
the change that was now fast approaching; and 
she often expressed a favorite idea, that, as the 
soles of her feet touched the waters of Jordan, a 
way would he made for her to pass through, "by 
Him who has promised " I will never leave thee, 
nor forsake thee.' 7 Heb. xiii. 5. " When thou 
passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 273 

and through the rivers, they shall not overflow 
thee," ' &c. Isaiah xliii. 2 ; and so strongly was her 
mind impressed with the employment and happi- 
ness of heaven, that about a fortnight before her 
death, she related the following circumstance : — 
' It appeared to me that I had just arrived in the 
eternal world ; the countless multitudes before 
the throne were just assembled for songs of 
praise ; — an angel alighted close by me with a 
golden harp in his hand, — the song of the re- 
deemed now resounded through the glorious 
heaven— I was almost afraid to lift up my head. 
The angel said, ' take this harp and join in the 
song.' — I said — { Oh ! how shall I join ? I am 
not worthy.' The angel said — s Who said a word 
about that ? ' and at that instant, the song had 
arrived at the words, (and they rang full upon 
my ear,) 'worthy is the Lamb' — so I joined — 
' worthy is the Lamb ' — and all was lost in that 
* worthy is the Lamb' — " Blessing and honour, and 
glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon 
the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and 
ever.'" 

Some few days afterwards, she said to me, 
' There appears such a light beaming upon my 
soul, and I have such ecstacy of joy, that it seems 
to me really wonderful. It cannot (she added,) 
be any imaginary dream, or delusion ; ' and on 
my saying, that ( there could be no more 



274 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

delusion in it than the light of the sun was a 
delusion ; ' she exclaimed — i Oh, no ! I know in 
whom I have believed ; and I have so felt the 
divine presence with me— comforting me, and 
supporting me, during the sleepless hours of the 
night, that I could scarcely refrain from shouting 
hallelujah ! hallelujah ! to my Redeemer.' 

' I had left the parsonage, (said her affectionate 
son,) under an engagement, to do some ministerial 
duty, and having been necessarily absent for more 
than a day, I approached the house, on my return, 
with a half fearful heart ; (not knowing what might 
have happened,) and as I drew near the door, I 
heard to my great surprise, the most lively tunes 
playing on the piano ; well, thought I, surely my 
dear sister is not so inconsiderate as this : but 
going up stairs, my dear mother told me, that 
( being a little relieved from the continual sickness, 
her whole heart and soul had been able to rise in 
praise and joy, so much so, that she had hardly been 
able to keep from expressing, with all the powers of 
her voice, all the morning, her praise and thanks- 
giving to the Saviour : so after a little time, she 
had sent my sister to play some tunes suitable to 
her joyful feelings for her to hear.' ' 

Our surprise was, not that her mental, but her 
corporeal energy, was equal to such an effort as 
to compose the following verses, so near to her 
death. — 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 275 

The damp dews of death, are about me this morning, 

The grave is preparing its quiet for me ; 
But the glories of heaven around me are dawning. 

The King in his beauty, how soon shall I see. 

For the land which is very far off, I am bound, 
Then why should my footsteps be lingering here ? 

I see the bright track, and the glory around, 

Then welcome the grave, and the death which is near. 

'Twill be but the death of all suffering and sorrow, 

'Twill be but the death of a body of sin ; 
Oh ! the sun never shone on so bright a to-morrow, 

As that which shall welcome my spirit within,— 

Within the dark veil which mortality shrouds 
From the glories and joys of Immanuel's reign ; 

Oh ! that moment will come, and the veil of the flesh 
Shall be rent from the top to the bottom again. 

It is near ! it is near ! I feel the veil rending, 
The King in his beauty, how soon shall I see ; 

My soul is already in praises ascending, 
My God is preparing a mansion for me. 



She continued in a calm, blessed tranquillity of 
mind, and spoke of leaving her family, the last 
and strongest tie that bound her affections to 
earth, with great resignation. ' Oh ! rejoice ! re- 
joice ! (she said,) all of you rejoice ! that I am 
now hastening to the close of my life — If you 
really love me, you cannot wish such a state as 
mine, of suffering and pain, to be prolonged. — 
My Saviour has made such a manifestation of 



276 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

himself to my soul, that in near communion with 
Him, I find, that he is more to me, than husband, 
children, or the dearest friends I have upon the 
earth.' 

It was a pleasing satisfaction to reflect, that 
every practicable means were used in the hope 
of prolonging a life so dear — so valuable to the 
family — but it was not in the power of medicine, 
nor could the physician's skill, effect this. It was 
the will of God that it should be otherwise ; and 
the event called for silent submission to Him who 
has said — " Be still, and know that I am God." 

On the SI st of March, when suffering from 
great restlessness and weariness, the suggestion 
was made, " Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to- 
day, and for ever," she replied — * Yes, 1" know it 
all, but I cannot think now.' And when asked 
if we should all kneel around her bed, and pray, 
she said — * No, I cannot bear it now.' — Then 
after a minute's pause, she added — l but that does 
not distress me, I know, I feel I am safe — God 
my Saviour is all faithfulness and truth.' 

She said to her affectionate daughters on the 
night of her birth-day, (the 22nd.) as she put her 
arms fondly round them — f perhaps I may not live 
through the night. — Well, my children, if you 
love me, rejoice ! rejoice ! for me. Now, good 
night — God bless you/ 

March the 23rd.—-' The damp dews of death ' 



HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 277 

stood on her forehead, and it was a day of much 
suffering; yet her mind was clear and collected. 
Towards evening, she said, ( It cannot be long 
now — all, all is peace ; ' and those who took the 
last farewell, will ever remember, the great so- 
lemnity, and heavenly expression of countenance, 
with which she said — ' God bless you, and bless 
you for ever and ever,' 

About ten o'clock on the same evening, the 
spirit fled — the warfare was accomplished — then, 
she joined that society around the throne, where 
the question is asked — " What are these which 
are arrayed in white robes ? and whence came 
they ? These are they which came out of great 
tribulation, and have washed their robes, and 
made them white in the blood of the Lamb. — 
Therefore are they before the throne of God, and 
serve him day and night in his temple ; and he 
that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. 
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any 
more ; neither shall the sun light on them, nor 
any heat : for the Lamb which is in the midst of 
the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them 
unto living fountains of waters : and God shall 
wipe away all tears from their eyes." — Rev. vii. 
13—17. 

Christian reader, I have endeavoured to pourtray 
the character of the subject of this memoir faith- 
fully ; nothing has been written in unmeaning 



2?8 HER LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 

panegyric, or with exaggeration. The narrative 
of her Christian life and experience, has been 
simply told. She has finished her course — she 
is gone to ' deck her Saviour's mediatorial crown ' 
— a jewel formed and polished by his own divine 
hand, for this glorious purpose, May we follow 
her bright example, as she followed her Saviour's ; 
holding fast the assurance of faith, even unto 
the end — that at the last our end may be like 
hers. 

" She is not dead but sleepeth." 



THE END. 



1. AND G. SEELEY, PRINTERS, THAMES DITTON, SURREY. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

A BRIEF MEMOIR 

OF 

WILLIAM B 



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